Smoke and Mirrors
by X23 Maximoff
Summary: After a strange attack on the Enterprise, the crew is sent into disarray and one of its members captured. Meanwhile, one Pavel Chekov begins to learn all about illusions...
1. Chapter 1

Alright, cowboys (and girls)! I have a confession to make. I did not see a single Star Trek until the recent 2009 movie (which, coincidentally, is the category where this story is placed...funny how that works out). In which case, I am not well versed in all things Star Trek. Wherefore and henceforth, if I make a truly appalling mistake in the proceeds of this story, I would greatly appreciate it if someone were to let me know. Thanks y'all!

--

The funny thing about the whole thing was, it was his 18th birthday.

Well, it was funny in the way that it was really kind of sad, that instead of being on board the_ Enterprise_, sipping his first legal shot of vodka whilst being congratulated on surviving another year by his crew members, he was sitting in a dingy cell on an unknown enemy vessel with a headache that made him wonder if perhaps he had developed an aneurism.

It had been a quiet hour on board the _Enterprise_ when it happened. Chekov had alerted Captain Kirk to the presence of a foreign vessel, small in design, approaching the Enterprise. The vessel was so small that Chekov estimated that only two people would be able to be seated in it. Kirk attempted to make contact with the ship, but as soon as the connection was made, the other ship terminated it, jetting away from the ship. The crew, confused as to the actions of the other ship, attempted to follow it via trackers, but it managed to elude their efforts, disappearing into the dark confines of outer space.

"Something feels off..." Kirk muttered to himself, tapping his temple in thought. Chekov couldn't help but agree wholeheartedly. The whole situation was odd, and he felt as if things were just a little bit too quiet.

Exactly thirty seconds later, alarms began screaming throughout the corridors of the Enterprise.

"Ensign Chekov! What on earth is going on?" Kirk yelled as Chekov's fingertips flew across his data screen.

"Sir, it seems there has been a breach in security in the lower engine rooms. An intruder has entered." he explained, getting frustrated at how he seemed unable to lock on the intruder's exact location.

"Can you tell me how we managed to get an intruder?" Kirk asked, his tone clearly showing his upset.

"I am sorry, sir. There is some kind of block on the computer - it won't tell me anything." Chekov said exasperatedly, fingers flying with renewed fervor in attempt to unlock the data.

"Well you need to get it unblocked now-"

"Captain Kirk! Enemy ship spotted!" Sulu interrupted.

"Attempt contact." Kirk said quickly. "Chekov, see if you can fix the computers!"

"Aye aye, Captain!" Chekov said, gathering some more information last minute on the problem holding back the computer. He would have to go to the main computer room and physically unlock the obstruction to the computer's location and targeting softwares. The hallways were bustling with activity as he sprinted to the computer main, everyone simultaneously manning their stations and attempting to find out what exactly was going on. There was apparently an intruder on board, but no one had seen them or encountered them, at least that Captain Kirk knew of. He had contacted Scotty down in the bowels of the ship where apparently the intrusion had taken place, but he had no knowledge of any such happening until the alarms had gone off.

Something was definitely fishy about this.

Chekov, meanwhile, skidded to a halt in front of the computer main, hurriedly entering his access code. The doors seemed to swish open too slowly, causing Chekov to (painfully) catch his hip and shoulder on the glass as he squeezed into the barely there space. He slid to a stop in front of the appropriate section of the computer, tapping in another access code in order to open the innards to him. His eyes scanned the rows and rows of circuit boards and chips, but he couldn't find any bug anywhere.

"Ensign Chekov!" Captain Kirk's voice barked over the communicator.

"Yes sir?" Chekov asked, still looking for the bug.

"Why are the computers still malfunctioning?" Kirk asked, and Chekov heard the distinct sound of a blast in the background. So, they were firing on each other now. That was always a good sign.

"I am unable to find the problem." Chekov explained quickly. "I am going to have to reset the systems instead."

"Whatever! Just fix it! This 'intruder' is causing more problems than just random alarms. I'm sending Sulu down there to help you." Kirk said, terminating the connection.

Chekov immediately pulled out the first circuit board. If his calculations were correct, he could reset just the location and targeting boards, enabling him to solve the most immediate problems with no intrusion to the other, also immediately necessary, parts of the computer. The doorway down the hall swished open, making Chekov believe that Sulu had made it down to assist him in the resetting of the programs.

"Sulu! I need you to reset the software for the inner targeting system. If I reset the inner locator software as well, we should be returned to full functionality without interfering with the rest of the operating system." Chekov explained quickly, not looking up from the circuit board. Sulu made no response, and no move towards his assignment. "Sulu? Did you hear me? We need to reset-"

He finally looked up, not to be met with the sight of Hikaru Sulu, but of a figure covered completely head to toe in black, whose booted foot was headed strait for the side of Chekov's face at that moment.

Chekov was sent sprawling across the floor, blood from a newly split lip spraying across the previously pristine white floor. He quickly rolled to his feet, turning to face his opponent, who was already launching another attack on him. He dodged the right hook flying towards his face, using his opponent's momentum and his limited Sambo (1) training to force the other person into submission, using his full body weight to hold the intruder down. However, his training was evidently too limited, as his enemy was able to throw a sharp elbow very roughly into Chekov's ribs, making him loosen his grip slightly. His opponent, with previously unknown strength, was able to flip Chekov over, straddling him and grabbing a vial out of a pouch on his utility belt all in one movement. Before Chekov could make a move to prevent it, the vial was emptied into his jugular vein in the very same way that Chekov often saw Bones do to Captain Kirk. From there, the world had gone black.

Which led him to his present condition, laying in a dirty cell, staring at a dirty ceiling, with a headache that was not a hangover from birthday celebrations. Needless to say, Chekov was just a bit disappointed.

"Are you ever going to sit up?" came an exasperated voice from nearby, startling the Russian. He lifted his head, taking in the image of a dark haired girl in a separate cell across from him before decided he regretted the movement and laying his head back down.

"I am trying to collect myself at the moment." Chekov said slowly.

"They stabbed you with that vaccine thing, didn't they?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Sucks." she retorted.

Chekov squeezed his eyes shut, willing his headache to go away. He slowly eased into a sitting position, biting back a groan as the world spun for a moment. "Actually," he said, sliding so that his back was propped against a dirty (surprise, surprise) wall. "it did not 'suck' anything out of me. I believe I was injected with some sort of debilitating serum which removed me of consciousness and allowed for my capture." He was finally able to get a visual on his companion. She was human, roughly the same age as him or a little older, and was also sitting against the back wall with one leg stretched in front of her and the other pulled close, her forearm resting on her knee. Her hair was dark and stick-strait, ending just below her chest. Dark eyes peered at him from under heavy bangs.

She smiled slightly, just one side of her mouth being upturned. "No, not literally. It's a phrase that developed in...Victorian England? Not sure about that, but anyway, it came about because weasels would suck the yolks out of the fresh chicken eggs, rendering them useless. That's what I'm told at least."

Chekov furrowed his brow, mind whirring. "I am afraid I do not understand. Eggs were not involved in my attack."

The half smile returned. "No, it's just an American slang way of saying that something is 'bad' or 'not optimal' or what have you." she explained further.

"Oh." Chekov said, nodding his head slightly in comprehension. "Well, in that case, yes, it did 'suck'."

His companion chuckled. "I'm Amelia." she said. "Amelia Doss."

"I am Pavel Andreievich Chekov, ensign and navigator on the_ U.S.S. Enterprise_." Chekov stated proudly and with a weak smile.

"Well, Pavel Andreievich Chekov, I recommend you go back to sleep. They'll probably be coming for you in a little bit, and you'll want to be as rested as you can be at that point." Amelia said sadly.

"Do you know why we are in here?" Chekov asked. Amelia looked to her lap instead of his questioning eyes.

She paused for a moment. "We're collector's items." she said cynically, much hidden in her tone that wasn't spoken with her words. "They want us because we're special."

"Ah, so you are what they call a 'prodigy' as well?" Chekov said, getting excited.

"Not exactly." she said after a moment.

"Hm. What exactly do you mean then?" he questioned, feeling rather curious.

"I'll tell you later. You really should sleep now." she said softly.

"Alright. Goodnight then, Amelia." Chekov said, retaining his characteristic sunny disposition. The same sad smile returned to her face.

"Goodnight, Pavel." she said, keeping her gaze on him as he laid back down and attempted to rest away his still throbbing headache.

--

Meanwhile, back on the _U.S.S. Enterprise_, utter chaos was raging.

"What do you mean, you_ lost_ Chekov?" Captain Kirk asked Sulu. "How do you lose a Russian?"

"I don't know, sir," Sulu responded, flustered. "I went down to the computer main as you ordered, but when I got there, it was completely empty. The appropriate programs had already been reset and closed off and everything. The only thing there was some blood."

"And no sign of Ensign Chekov?"

"None."

Kirk swore loudly. Somehow, his crew had managed to lose both the enemy ship that had randomly opened fire on them and their favorite Russian prodigy, all in the same night. Needless to say, Captain Kirk was a bit upset at the turn of events.

"Where to start, where to start..." Kirk muttered to himself, beginning to pace around the bridge.

"Captain, if I may..." Spock said calmly, gathering Kirk's attention.

"Go ahead, Spock." Kirk said, turning to his friend.

"We may be able to lock on Ensign Chekov's signal from his communicator, given that the computers are now fully functional, and that he is not out of range. That would be the logical first step to take." Spock said in his normal calm manner.

"Brilliant idea, Mr. Spock!" Kirk said just a little too excitedly, collapsing in his chair and wondering why he didn't think of that himself. "Mr. Sulu, please attempt to locate Chekov via the signal from his communicator."

"Yes, Captain." Sulu said, turning to his station and opening the outer locating software. He typed in the specifics involved with Chekov's communicator, setting the computer at the largest radius it could manage in order to locate the navigator. A map appeared on the screen in front of them, a small dot appearing in the far corner.

"Is that Chekov?" Kirk asked hopefully.

"Yes, sir," Sulu said, though his tone was not as hopeful. The signal was continuously moving further away from the Enterprise. "But it seems they are attempting to move out of range."

"Well follow them!" Captain Kirk said as loud as he could without it technically being called yelling.

"Locking coordinates..." Sulu said, typing in necessary equations and codes as the little red blip that was Chekov moved dangerously close to the edge of the range. But the computer refused to lock the target on him, no matter what Sulu did.

"Mr. Sulu?" Kirk asked, a warning in his tone.

"Yes, sir?" Sulu replied, still tapping away mercilessly at his screen, trying to bypass whatever was keeping him from locking on Chekov.

"Why are the coordinates not locked?" Kirk continued. He was under the impression that something like locking in coordinates was a relatively immediate process. It always had been before.

"There is some kind of barrier around the ship. It does not enable me to lock onto it or anything inside it, such as Chekov's communicator." Sulu responded, now moving frantically as Chekov moved even closer to the edge.

"You need to fix that." Kirk stated.

"I'm working on it!" Sulu barked exasperatedly. Never in his life had he seen such a strange cloaking device, one where the ship could be seen, but not locked on. Chekov was dangerously close to disappearing when Sulu finally found a hole in the system. With renewed fervor he began to hack through the system, but just as he was almost through, Chekov's dot disappeared off the screen. Silence permeated the bridge.

"I...I lost him." Sulu said quietly as his screen went blank. Kirk nodded, biting his fingernail.

"Captain, perhaps we should meet with the nearest Star Fleet member and see if they have seen this strange ship. They might be able to assist us in a search and rescue mission in order to retrieve Ensign Chekov." Spock said. Jim shook his head.

"No, that would take too much time. They would be long gone by then." Jim said, standing up and resuming his pacing. He paused, looking back towards the screen with a look of deep thought on his face. He repositioned himself with a jerky, awkward motion, pointing at the screen without saying anything.

"Sir? What course of action should we take?" Sulu asked. A smirk appeared on Jim's face, a look that was often accompanied by something rather risky.

"I need you to scour the ship and find that pesky relief navigator - the flaky one that always seems so hyperfocused?" he began, speaking to Sulu. He turned to Spock. "Mr. Spock, I need you to examine the given path we have for that ship and then calculate the trajectory of it. Maybe if we can predict where it is going, we can follow it, then lock on it when Chekov is back in range."

"Captain, this idea exhibits dangerous tendencies." Spock advised. "We will be unable to surprise the other ship, and we will be unable to open fire on it, considering we are uninformed as to the location of Ensign Chekov within the ship. Not to mention that if they were to alter their trajectory by even the slightest, my calculations would be rendered useless, as we would no longer be on the same line as they are."

"Ah, Mr. Spock, when are you going to learn that an idea that is not dangerous is unworthy of being called an idea at all (2)?" Jim said with a smirk, sinking into his chair with a much more confident air now. "Besides, we don't need to be on the exact same line as they are, we just need to be able to get near enough that we can find Chekov's signal again."

Spock looked at Kirk for a moment with a look that made Kirk feel as if his Vulcan companion was debating whether or not it would be worth the emotional taxation to kill him in some secretive and intricate way. But, after a year of working together, Jim knew the look would pass and that Spock would agree with his side.

"I am unsure as to the solidity of this plan of action." was Spock's response. Jim smiled - he had him exactly where he wanted him.

"Mr. Spock, a member of my crew has been wrongfully removed from my ship. I am against people who decide to take my crew members away from me. In fact, I down right loathe those kinds of people. Ensign Chekov is a valuable and irreplaceable member of this crew. I consider his retrieval to be of top priority. Do you know what that means?"

Spock looked as if he would rather not know what that meant. "What does it mean, Captain?"

"It means that we need to go and get our Russian back. Now, would you please calculate the trajectory and estimated path of the people that took him?" Jim asked nicely. If Spock were not Vulcan, he would have sighed in resignation.

"I shall have those calculations for you shortly, Captain." he said, showing no signs of his vexation.

"Excellent." Jim said, swivelling back to the front. "Mr. Sulu, where is our backup navigator?"

"He should be arriving shortly." Sulu said with impatience. "I alerted him only three minutes ago."

"It's already been three minutes? We've got to work on that. Way too slow in my ship." Jim said, leaning back and crossing his legs. Uhura, who had been attempting to ignore the entire conversation and try to pick up any sign of the enemy ship instead, finally turned to Jim.

"Captain, permission to speak freely?" she said in a sarcastic tone.

"Of course, Uhura. Speak away." Jim said, turning to her.

"I feel as though you are being rather cavalier in attitude about this. Chekov is somewhere in outer space on an enemy ship - we don't even know if he is still alive! And you're cracking jokes about how the reliefe navigator isn't coming to his post fast enough!" she said vehemently.

"Well, Uhura, I don't believe I am being cavalier about this, but more...confident." Jim said with a smile. Uhura just continued to glare at him, causing his expression to sober immediately. "We will find him, Uhura. I will not leave Chekov to whatever fate his captors have planned for him."

The seriousness of his face and tone seemed to appease Uhura for the moment, as she nodded and turned back to her screen, trying to listen for any signs of the enemy ship. The relief navigator then arrived at his post, quickly settling into Chekov's chair and typing in the necessary access codes. Spock also returned, walking up to Jim.

"Captain, I have calculated the estimated path of the enemy ship." Spock said, presenting his PADD for Jim to see his results.

"Very good." Jim said, perusing the calculations before handing them back to Spock. "Let's enter warp and catch up to those nasty little buggers."

--

Chekov was roughly kicked awake. He felt as if he had only been asleep for mere moments, and though his head felt marginally better, he would much have preferred to sleep longer.

"C'mon pipsqueak, uppity time." a rough voice commanded him, adding another kick for good measure. Chekov groaned, pushing himself into a sitting position. His awakener grabbed him by the upper arm, violently pulling him to his feet.

"I am coming." Chekov protested weakly, trying to get his captor to be a little more gentle. Somewhere inside he knew that his protests were useless.

"Big Boss Man wants to see you now." the man, who was a very large, muscular specimen, said with a menacing chuckle, pulling Chekov out of his cell. Chekov caught Amelia's eye as he was being pulled away; she gave him a sad look with as comforting a smile as she could muster, as if she knew the turmoil that lied in front of him. He gave her a confident smile - after all, he was Russian, and Russians could handle anything.

He hoped.

--

(1) - Sambo is a common form of Martial Arts from Russia.  
(2) - quote by Oscar Wilde: "An idea that is not dangerous is unworthy of being called an idea at all."

well, tell me what y'all think! it's a little bit shorter than i usually write, but the chapters will probably get longer as i am able to come up with some more ideas to flesh them out with. please leave love and tell me what you think!

~XM


	2. Chapter 2

oh my goodness, thank you for all the reviews! y'all are so fantastic! hopefully this chapter is up to par!

--

Big and Burly did not stay with Chekov very long. In fact, as soon as he was shoved out of the holding area, he was handed over to an even larger, even more burly man than the first, and the first one stayed behind to guard the door.

"Have fun, pipsqueak." the first man said, giving that maniacal laugh again.

Chekov's new companion was not a very amiable one. In fact, if the Russian were to be honest with himself, he quite hated the man. This, as Mr. Spock would say, was not entirely logical - after all, Chekov had no idea as to the true persona of this man. He may have a wife, children. They may have been killed. They may be here on this strange ship, living a life of maraudership with him. He may be a forgotten hero, turned to the dark side after many tortured wars.

To Chekov, he was a bitter, mean, large man that was having just a little too much fun pummeling Chekov's small body.

"You know, you really must watch for these doorframes." Chekov muttered as the man once again plowed him into one. It really couldn't be that difficult to just drag Chekov through the door after him, could it? And Chekov knew it wasn't an accident that this walk down the hallway was quickly becoming an obstacle course - it was basic mathematics to see that a four foot wide man and a one foot wide man could not fit through a three and a half foot doorway walking side by side. The man couldn't even walk through it by himself without having to turn sideways, so it amazed Chekov that he continuously believed that they could go through at the same time. His tour guide, however, did not seem to notice this fact.

The large man didn't respond. His companion was, quite obviously, a very large being, and as far as Chekov could tell, wasn't human. His general physique was like that of a human's, only on a very mammoth scale. The only things that gave away his alien nature were the glowing, dark red spots that served as his eyes, the only facial feature that Chekov could see besides the grizzly black mane that covered most of his face. Chekov tried to see if his ears were pointed like the Vulcan, but he honestly couldn't even tell if the man had any.

About three doorframes and one sharp corner past what Chekov previously referred to as his "limit," he was finally pulled into a large, open room. It appeared to be some sort of antechamber, as the only thing in this room was an ornately embellished door to another room.

"What have you got there, Lockjaw?" a sultry, feminine voice drawled to Chekov's left. He was unable to see the source of the voice, as his buddy was currently blocking his view.

There was a deep rumbling in the man's chest as he formed his response. "Fresh meat." was his response. It wasn't the actual words per se that frightened Chekov, but the man - "Lockjaw's" - voice. Actually, it couldn't even be called a voice. It was more of a projection of sound waves and vibrations strait from the man's chest, almost like the sounds of something mechanical operating uderwater. It was a very strange sound that the scientist in him wished to study, but the human in him feared greatly. It was no wonder that Chekov had earlier been unable to locate a mouth - it seemed he didn't have one.

Meanwhile, the feminine voice was chuckling lowly. To Chekov, it sounded rather sinister. "Fresh indeed." was all she said. Chekov tried in vain to see around the wide girth of Lockjaw in order to put a face to the voice, but his shear enormosity prevented it. The large door in front of them opened, and they were off again. The last thing Chekov heard before the door slammed behind was that same sinister laugh, echoing through his brain.

Lockjaw threw him to the ground, making his head bounce roughly against the solid marble floor. "Stay down." he growled, his voice echoing creepily through the large, white room. Chekov could feel another presence in front of him, but found himself too afraid to look up.

"Well, well, well," a raspy voice filled the silence. "what have we here?"

He was silent then, and Chekov reckoned that he was waiting for him to answer. "I am Pavel Andreievich Chekov, ensign and navigator on the _U.S.S. Enterprise_." he said, clambering to his hands and knees. He kept his head down.

"Ah, I assume you would want me to introduce myself as well, eh?" the rasp continued. He spoke slowly, as if choosing one word at a time. "You may call me Sir. To others, you may refer to me as He or Him, should the situation permit. You work for me now, Pavel Andreievich Chekov."

Chekov's Russian blood raised in temperature. He worked for no one but the Federation! To even insinuate that he would change his affiliation was simply preposterous! "I am Pavel Andreievich Chekov, ensign and navigator on the _U.S.S. Enterprise_." he repeated, stressing the end.

It angered Chekov that His only response was to laugh. "I know who you are." He drawled. Chekov heard Him get up from His chair, light footsteps pacing in front of him. "You are the prodigy of Star Fleet, the youngest and most brilliant to ever graduate from the Academy, entering at the tender age of twelve and graduating at sixteen. You were on board the _U.S.S. Enterprise_ for its maiden voyage, and have since been operating as its navigator. I have done my homework, Ensign Chekov."

"If you had done sufficient research, you would find that Mr. Spock is the brightest to ewer graduate, not I." Chekov responded. Without warning, a large foot suddenly contacted his head very hard, sending him sprawling across the ground as stars exploded before his eyes.

"Careful, Lockjaw!" He reprimanded with a very angry voice. "If you damaged his brain, I will kill you myself!"

Chekov gasped in pain, the world blacking out for a split second. His vision was swimming, and he felt as if one side of his skull had been crushed in. Even the worst migraine could not compare to this. He continued to gasp as the pain refused to subside.

Then He spoke again. "Stories of your mathmatical brain have traveled far and wide through this universe, Ensign Chekov. And now, that mind is mine." He let out a dark laugh, and walked over to Chekov, peering down at the injured Russian. Chekov froze in fear as he faced his captor. The man - or alien, he should say - had deathly pale skin that looked grey and leathery to Chekov. His head was completely bald, and looked to be about twice as large as the normal human skull. He wore heavy black robes, contrasting against His pale skin and making His large hands stand out against the dark background. The thing that Chekov feared the most, however, were the great black, unblinking eyes that gazed in his direction like two great abysses waiting to suck him in. The slit that was His mouth opened again. "Take him back to his cell!" He barked.

Large hands roughly grabbed him, hauling him to his feet. Something dripped off his face - was it sweat, or blood? His vision was too blurry, and the world spinning too fast for him to tell. Lockjaw (he assumed) literally dragged him back to his cell, as Chekov couldn't quite stand on his own. He was thrown in, the gate slamming shut behind him, finally allowing him to collapse.

"Pavel?" Amelia asked. He could hear the worry in her voice. She got up, coming to the front of her cell in order to try and get closer to him and see what was wrong. He heard her gasp in shock. "Oh goddess, Pavel! Are you alright? Speak to me! Say something!"

Chekov took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself to answer. It took him a few tense minutes, but he was finally able to groan out his response: "Ouch."

"Thank goodness! You're alive!" she said, heaving a huge sigh of relief. "Where did they hurt you? What happened? Are you hurt in more than one place? Your head is bleeding!"

Well, that answered one of his questions. "Shh." he said quietly. He was, in general, not opposed to Amelia, but her worried tones sounded more like harpy shrieks at the moment. "My head."

"Oh right, sorry." she said in a whisper. She paused for a moment, assessing the situation. "Pavel, are you dizzy?"

"Wery much so." he responded before leaning over and vomiting. Amelia was silent again, allowing him to collect his bearings. He slowly rolled onto his back, closing his eyes and letting out a long breath.

"Pavel, listen to me," Amelia said, trying to keep his wavering attention.

"Mhmm." Chekov murmured, already beginning to fall asleep.

"Pavel, you have a concussion. I need you to stay awake, ok? That way you won't slip into a coma." she said slowly and clearly.

"Dr. McCoy once told me that a patient with a concussion would not go into a coma if you giwe them a shot containing extracts of a plant found in the Corsan Basin of the planet Uk in the Sigma galaxy." Chekov replied slowly. He could hear a dry chuckle from Amelia.

"Well, we don't have that plant, so we're going to have to kick this old school, ok?" she said.

"How long do I need to stay awake?" he asked.

"Probably for the next eight hours." she responded quietly.

Chekov whistled lowly. That was a long time, and he was already very tired. "I am Russian. I will be fine in four."

"You are human. You'll be fine in eight." she said shortly. She paused once more, and Chekov began to drift off. He distantly heard her sighing. "Looks like I'm going to have to keep you talking, then."

He slowly woke himself back up, attempting to open his eyes. That idea was soon declared a bad one, as even the dim lights of his dingy cell were too bright for his headache. "I suppose that would be efficient." he responded.

"Do you know who did this to you?" she asked.

Chekov thought for a moment, his mind feeling sluggish and scrambled. "It was...the large man...such a strange voice..." his felt as if his thoughts were the pieces to a puzzle, only a few of them were mysteriously missing.

"Lockjaw?" she filled in the missing space.

"That sounds familiar." he responded. "How did you know?"

"Well, one: his creepy voice is one of those things you don't forget, and two: that crack across your face definitely looks like his handywork."

"You have seen him in action then?" Chekov was curious.

"I also have a souvenir from him." she replied. Chekov tried again to open his eyes, this time being more successful. She had a far-off look in her eye, and was holding her hand to her face. "He certainly has some very hard fists." she continued after a moment.

"I think I received his booty." Chekov said, earning a laugh from Amelia. He wasn't quite sure why.

"I think you mean his boot." she corrected him.

"That too." he said with a sigh, enjoying the sound of her laughter. Maybe it was the concussion, or maybe it was the fact that the only female he'd seen in the last four months was Leiutenant Uhura, but he thought Amelia to be rather pretty. Her smile now was not the sad one she had exhibited earlier, and Chekov found that it suiter her face better. "But honestly, I do not wish to talk about what happened tonight."

"Alright then, how do you suppose I keep you awake for the next seven hours and forty-five minutes?" she asked.

"Keep asking me questions. Maybe some mathmatical ones, if you have any. It will help me retain my memories." he said.

"Mathmatical questions?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Please."

"You do realize that I'll have no way of knowing if you're right or wrong. I wasn't a math major." she said, trying to find anything else that they could do.

"That is perfectly acceptable. I simply need to keep my mind working, in which case I shall stay conscious." he replied, some of his normal chipperness returning to his tone.

"How's your head?" she asked softly.

"I still feel as if there are wery angry Klingons wrestling in the crewices of my brain, but the pain has already lessened marginally. I shall be feeling better in no time!" he replied as lightly as he could, given the situation. "Please, ask me some questions."

"Okay, um...what is the volume of a sphere?" she asked.

"Four-thirds pi times the radius cubed." he responded. She sighed - it was going to be a long night.

--

"Sir, I'm sorry." the relief navigator sighed. "There's simply not a way for us to find him right now."

"Do not tell me that, Ensign!" Jim yelled. To say that he was upset with the situation would be an understatement.

"Captain, you must calm down." Spock said in a low tone.

"Calm down, Spock? My main navigator is missing and you want me to calm down?!" he asked incredulously. His confidence of before had faded once they had pulled out of warp to find nothing but empty space.

"Spock's right, sir." Uhura said as if placating a dangerous animal. "You won't find young Chekov by yelling at his relief."

"Of course you agree with him." Jim muttered angrily. Uhura's eyes hardened.

"Sir, excuse me for saying this, but I feel as if that crossed a line." she said slowly, menacingly.

"I'm sorry." Jim said quietly. "Forgive me, I was out of line." he looked to Spock, but was only greeted by the same blank look that he always had. Uhura let out a slow breath before turning back to her screen. Jim was grateful - he'd rather receive her silent treatment than her icy stares.

"Captain-" Spock began to speak.

"I'll be right back." Jim said suddenly, getting up and leaving before anyone could protest. He quickly walked down to the computer main, sending a message to summon Bones as he did. He angrily tapped in his code to the room, taking long strides back to where Chekov was last known to be. The spots of blood were still on the floor, the only thing left of their stolen navigator. They had roped the area off, giving the crew time to try and chase down the captors before resorting to analyzing the area for any clues it could possess.

A few moments later, Bones strode up behind him. "You rang, Jim?" he asked.

"Yes, Bonsey." Jim replied, clapping the older man on the shoulder as they both looked toward the crime scene. "What kind of wound would Chekov have to had sustained in order to lose that blood?"

Bones looked at the blood for a moment, doing some calculations in his head. "Well, there isn't much of it, so I'd have to say something small, like a split lip. Perhaps a nose bleed, if the kid is right and Russian blood really is thicker than anyone else's."

Jim tapped his lip in thought before carefully stepping under the rope. He turned to face the computer main, locating the circuit board that Chekov had been working on. He knelt to the ground, looking around him with a look of intense concentration that Jim very rarely used.

"Whatcha thinkin', Jim?" Bones asked lowly. He could practically see the wheels turning in the Captain's mind.

"Look at this, Bones." he said, gesturing to the computer main while glancing at the blood behind him. "Chekov was concentrating on the circuit board when he was attacked, so he was facing this way. But if he was looking this way, why is the blood behind me?"

Bones stayed silent, figuring it was one of those moments when Jim was talking aloud to himself, not actually to Bones. Jim looked up at the doctor, then back at the blood, then back to the computer main. Then the lightbulb came on.

"He saw his attacker. He looked up, and then the guy probably kicked him, causing him to-" he moved his body back to the area Chekov would have fallen, right where the small spots of blood were. "-fall this way." He noticed that there was another spot of blood a few inches away, smudged. "He got up, tried to defend himself..." he paused, looking in vain for more. "But what happened after that?" He looked up to Bones, finally meeting his eyes with the question. Bones swore under his breath.

"Jim, I'm a doctor, not a crime scene investigator." he stated. Jim's eyes returned to the floor, looking frantically for something he might have missed.

"There's something missing in this equation. Something's not right." he muttered. He stepped back into a clear area before getting flat on his stomach, looking at the floor from that angle. It was then that he was able to spot an anomaly - right next to Bones' right foot. "Bones, don't move!" he said, possibly with a little too much energy.

"What?! What is it?!" Bones asked, suddenly fearing for his life. Jim carefully stepped over to where he was, squatting down next to his boot where a miniscule drop of yellow liquid laid. "Jim, what on earth are ya lookin' at? There's nothing there!"

"Yes there is, Bones, look closer!" Jim said, beckoning Bones down to join him. "What do you reckon that is?"

"Honesly, Jim, I have no idea." Bones said, barely able to see the drop even though he was close to it. Jim brought up his communicator, connecting with Spock.

"Mr. Spock, I need you to come identify a foreign substance found at the crime scene." he said, not moving his eyes for fear of losing the nearly invisible trace.

"Affirmative. I shall join you shortly, Captain." Spock's voice rang out over the communicator, terminating the connection.

"Something is definitely fishy about this, Bones." Kirk said.

"Well gee, Jim, what was your first clue?" Bones said sarcastically. Jim sighed in frustration, but seemed at a loss for words for once in his life. Bones let out a breath, rolling his eyes. "Look, he's gonna be alright, Jim. He's a smart kid, he'll figure out a way to contact us, or maybe even a way to escape himself. We'll get him back, one way or another." Bones attempted to comfort the Captain. Kirk nodded, taking it all in. Spock joined them at that moment, wordlessly taking a sample of the liquid and beginning to perform his tests.

"There's something we're not seeing. Some piece that's missing." Kirk said, standing up and resuming his thoughtful look.

"We've got to give it a little more time." Bones said. Jim shook his head.

"How much more time could possibly be required? There's been no attempt at communication. If he's been taking hostage, those creeps are sure taking their time thinking about ransom. But if there's nothing but silence, do we just assume he's dead?"

"Captain?" Spock interrupted Kirk's musings.

"Yes, Spock. What did you find?" he asked eagerly.

"The liquid is a mix of sodium thiopental and propofol. Quite potent, in fact." Spock replied, putting his equipment back into the pack in which he had brought it.

"What does that _mean_, Spock?" Jim asked angrily. However, he was surprised to hear Bones answer instead of the Vulcan.

"It's general anastesia." Bones said quietly. "The sodium thiopental puts them to sleep, the propofol keeps 'em that way."

Silence settled like a heavy dew over the room.

"Chekov isn't a hostage," Jim said as the lightbulb turned on. "he's a target."

--

"A flux capacitor is used kind of like an enzyme for time travel. The key to time travel is that the speed of light must be exceeded, but the flux capacitor enables time travel to operate at a fraction of the speed. (1)" Chekov rattled off, staring at the ceiling of his cell. "Now ask me how much electricity is required for it to operate."

"How much electricity is required for the flux capacitor to operate?" Amelia said with an amused smile. She sat in her cell directly across from him, legs folded underneath her and her head resting on one arm.

"The first flux capacitor required 1.21 gigawatts of electrical power to operate. However, that was around two to three centuries ago, and now only .23 gigawatts of electrical power are necessary for operation."

"Did the Russians invent it?" she asked jokingly.

"No, but they made it better." Chekov answered immediately, even though he really had no idea if any Russians had done any work on later models of the flux capacitor. "And I will make the greatest one ewer!"

"Really, and when are you going to do that?" she asked, a slight inflection in her voice.

"After I retire from Star Fleet. I am hoping to hawe the help of Mr. Spock whenewer I partake in this endeawor, for he is a wery intelligent man." he replied.

Amelia paused, continuing again with a more sombor tone in her voice. "How do you know you're going to get back to Star Fleet?" she asked, putting up a front.

"Because I am intelligent, and they are intelligent. If I am unable to escape and alert them to my location first, then they shall scour the galaxy until I am retriewed!"

"You're that confident you'll escape Him?" she asked quietly, hopelessly.

"Of course. And you can come with me! Star Fleet can always use more intelligent minds!" Chekov said brightly, all things considered. Amelia laughed humorlessly, shaking her head.

"Let's talk about something else." she said.

"Alright. Let us talk about deriwatiwes." he replied.

"Derivatives?" she asked, a little shocked at the randomness.

"Yes. The first deriwatiwe of a function determines the slope of a funtion at a given point..."

--

(1) - the flux capacitor is what enables time travelling in the trilogy "Back to the Future."

ah, so now we had our chemistry/biology lesson, calculus lesson, and 1980's lesson all in one day! by the way, the only information i can say for sure is true is the derivatives and the flux capacitor, as i know this information first hand. the anasthesia stuff...well, that's what wikipedia is for. and we all know that wikipedia is completely and 100% true and trustworthy (sarcasm).

BY THE WAY, if y'all have an idea of something that you would really want to see in this story, let me know! i'm always open to that sort of thing - anything to give y'all more to read! obviously i will use ideas at my own discretion, considering some might not fit with the plot i have planned, but if i can find a place to fit them, i certainly will! always appreciated!

much love, y'all! live long and prosper!

~XM


	3. Chapter 3

ok, so it was like...half the reviews as chapter one. ah well, it's all good! thanks so much to y'all who did review! y'all rock face!

--

"Ok, so we've gone through the entire periodic table, major molecules, major isotopes, radioactive isotopes, Gravitational Physics, Grayneg's Oscillation Theorems, and the entire mechanical structure of the _Enterprise_, all in the past three hours." Amelia said in a tired voice.

"Among other things." Chekov added. He found Grayneg's Oscillation Theorems to be of particular enjoyment and wouldn't mind revisiting them, but Amelia pointed out that she couldn't quite keep up and that it would put her to sleep. "How much longer until I can go to sleep?"

Amelia checked her watch. "It's been five hours and fifty-two minutes. You do the math."

Chekov sighed. "We still have two hours and eight minutes. I am not sure I can make it that much longer. I wish to sleep." he complained.

"You're not the only one, buddy boy." she retorted.

Chekov realized his error. "I am sorry. Thank you for keeping me awake and alive." he said in an apologetic tone.

"It's no problem. How's your head feeling?" she asked.

"It is feeling much better. The dizziness has subsided significantly, and the throbbing halted half way through the construction of the bridge." he replied, gently placing his fingertips on the offending area.

"Think you'll be able to sit up soon?" she asked with humor in her tone. Chekov had been sprawled out on his back for the entire time, gazing up at the ceiling.

"Possibly." he answered in a way that made it seem as if he had no desire of testing it out any time soon. Honestly, the whole "moving" thing did not appeal to him at all.

"Well then, what's next?" she asked, knowing that he would fall asleep as soon as the conversation dissipated.

"Maybe I should ask you some questions now, eh?" he asked. He had been told it was rude to monopolize a conversation.

"That'll definitely put you to sleep." she responded quickly.

"No, I am a wery good listener." Chekov protested.

"We can go there when you're not recovering from a concussion."

"I insist." he said sternly. Amelia sighed.

"You're very stubborn, you know." she said.

"I hawe been told this, yes." he replied, slowly easing himself into a seating position. "Now, to start off, what is the reason that you are here?"

"Well, Lockjaw grabbed me by the hair and threw me in here." she said shortly, looking down at her hands.

"No, I mean, what is special about you that they took you as prisoner too?" he asked. Her lips quirked in a half-smile.

"I knew what you meant." she said quietly before taking a deep breath. "I'm telepathic and telekenetic. It means I can read people's minds, as well as move things with my mind."

"Really?" Chekov said with an intense look of interest. "That is fascinating! But if you are able to move things with your mind, how are you not able to free us?"

"Because I've been Tagged." she said quietly.

"I do not follow." Chekov said, furrowing his brow in confusion. Amelia lifted the dark hair at her temple, showing a small metal disk attached to her head. A small red light blinked at Chekov through the darkness.

"It has the ability to turn my powers on or off." she muttered bitterly.

"Can they literally control you with it?" he asked eagerly. If it was something technological that was holding her back, there was the possibility that he could do something about it.

"No, it just activates or deactivates the part of the brain that controls the power. Well, mine is at least. Most of the others are kind of like...shock collars of sorts." she replied.

"So, you are not human?" he asked, cocking his head to the side. She laughed.

"No, I'm a human, just with a little...surprise in my DNA. There used to be a lot more like me - mutants - but there was a lot of prejudice, so many of them died out. There are not many known mutants in the world anymore." she explained.

"Hmm." Chekov thought of another question, but as his mouth opened, so did the door to their little jail wing.

"Guess what, pipsqueak," the large guard said with a menacing smile. "I've got a present for you." he whipped out a red hypospray with a flourish, his grin widening. Chekov gulped audibly, but was in no position to fight against the large man. He only prayed that this one was not going to knock him unconscious again. He closed his eyes, letting out a strangled yell as the man jammed the needle into his jugular with much more force than was necessary. His head immediately began clearing, and he felt as if his skull was being knit back together.

"Why are you healing me?" Chekov asked, never having heard the phrase "don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

"Well, pipsqueak," the man seemed to have taken a liking to the nickname. "Boss Man wants you in tip top condition for your next meeting."

"Next meeting?" Chekov asked with a mix of fear and confusion.

"Yep. Right now." the man lifted Chekov to his feet via the front of his yellow Star Fleet uniform and pushing him out of the open door. He couldn't help but grimace as he was handed off to his good buddy Lockjaw, already wincing in anticipation of their trip. Chekov figured He must have had a talk with the behemoth, as Chekov was only run into half of the doorframes as before.

"Back so soon?" the sinister feminine voice greeted them as they entered the antechamber for a second time. This time Chekov was able to see the source of the voice, and was quite frankly, shocked. She was an old woman, sitting on an extension of the wall with her legs folded underneath her. She was not human, as her extremely wrinkled skin was a pale green color. Empty, sunken sockets sat where her eyes would have been, but Chekov was under the impression that somehow, someway, she could see them anyway. Lockjaw did not pause to "talk" to her again, instead pushing Chekov strait through into what could only be described as the throne room. There He was, sitting with his fingers steepled, gazing at them with those creepy, empty, black eyes.

"Ensign Chekov. How lovely of you to stop by." He wheezed.

"You summoned me here, Sir." Chekov replied sarcastically.

"Ah, that's right. I wanted to continue our little chat from earlier." He said.

"I do not work for you." Chekov said shortly, cutting strait to the chase.

"Of course you don't." He said as if placating a small child. "Ensign Chekov, what is it that you suppose I do?"

"Capture people against their will, kidnap them, and place probes in their brains." he retorted. He chuckled.

"I see you have been talking with your little cellmate." He said, more to Himself than anyone else. "Well, Ensign, the thing is, our primary occupation is that of pirates."

Chekov spit on the ground in front of him. "I should have known."

"You think lowly of my profession. That is alright - most of my subjects do, until they begin to reap the benefits. You see, there is a lot of money to be made in the pirating business, Ensign Chekov. Money that you can have a good share of when you join my team."

"So you took me away from my occupation and my life with Star Fleet so that I could be a part of your little thieving team?!" Chekov asked incredulously. Why would He be so obsessed with the universe's finest if he were only trying to steal from other people? You did not need a mathmatical and technological genius to steal.

He chuckled again. "This brings me to another portion of the occupation. You see, Ensign Chekov, though the primary goal of this ship is pirating, I am, first and foremost, a scientist and collector. I collect the best and brightest in the known galaxy, then use them both in order to keep my business thriving and to satiate my need for knowledge. They are my test subjects." He said it so calmly, and Chekov couldn't speak due to the shock. He was going to become some random space pirate's science project? "I wish to know what makes your brain different to that of a normal human, Ensign Chekov. Why are you capable of so much more intelligence?"

"Whatever you want me to do, I will not do it." Chekov replied. He would not be a part of this man's thieving team, and he would not subject himself as a study subject.

"You will work for me, or you will be a willing subject. Those are your only options."

"No."

"I would choose training, as sometimes our observational experiments can sometimes go...awry. But we can begin with experimentation, should you prefer." He said. Though the statement was menacing, He had a smile on His face.

"My answer is still no." Chekov said with resolution. He sighed.

"It has come to this, then." He said, again speaking more to himself than to Chekov. "Ensign, do you know how to operate the complex piece of equipment known as, in layman's terms, the Aeryc Computer Encompassor?"

Chekov's brow furrowed. "Yes. It enables the weilder to hack into a starship's computer and override any manual instructions that aren't giwen by the dewice itself." he replied lowly. Where was He going with this?

"Excellent. And I trust you are well trained in the navigational systems of multiple forms of starships, not just those used by the Federation?" He asked, his slit of a mouth twisting into a grin.

"Yes..." Chekov said, again unsure of what these questions were meant to reveal.

"Fantastic. Lockjaw, will you go retreive good St. Paul for me, please?" He asked, turning away from Chekov for a moment. Lockjaw's head tilted in a short nod before he exited the room, leaving Chekov alone with Him. "You see, Ensign, I originally contracted you in order to gain an extra Field Navigator, you know, just in case. A Field Navigator goes with my team, hacks into the system so that the team is able to enter, and in the most severe cases, hijack that specific vessel or another one, if necessary." Lockjaw lumbered back in, pulling along a tall, thin man. Sallow skin hung on his bones, and haunted eyes gazed out at Chekov from underneath an unkempt batch of red hair. He looked as if all hope were gone from his soul.

"Ensign, this is my current Field Navigator, St. Paul." he gestured grandly to the gaunt man next to him. "St. Paul is but a year away from being discharged from my service. In one year's time, I would have dropped him on his planet and replaced him."

"Don't listen to him, kid." St. Paul whispered, a flicker of emotion crossing his skeletal face.

"I speak nothing but the truth. Ensign, if you would have agreed to begin training, you would have replaced St. Paul here. However, because you are being uncooperative, I am sorry to say that good St. Paul here is being forced into an early retirement." With that, He reached into his robes and pulled out a phaser, shooting St. Paul in the head without a second thought. What little life was left in the man's eyes was immediately extinguished as he died, crumpling to the floor with a disgusting thud. Chekov couldn't help but yell aloud, his heart leaping to his throat.

"What..." he could not form a coherent sentence in his shock.

"All you had to do was cooperate, Ensign." He said with a sigh, shaking his head. Lockjaw grabbed St. Paul's body by the hair, dragging it out of the room. "Pity. Look's like I am short one Field Navigator. Ensign Chekov, be prepared to go on a mission in approximately two hours."

Chekov's head was reeling, making him feel much like he did when he was unable to transport Spock's mother from the failing planet Vulcan. It had been his fault that she had died, and now it was his fault that someone else's life was wrongfully and prematurely taken. The world seemed to lose all sound and slow down around him. He vaguely noticed Lockjaw haul him to his feet, pulling him out of the room. He saw that dreadful, white, leathery face smiling wickedly at him as the door closed. The old woman gave him a ghoulish grin, her sinister laugh ringing in his ears. His return was a blur, suddenly careening to a stop as he was thrown into his dank, dark cell. Amelia, blissfully asleep in the cell across from him, was stirred from her slumber at the noise. Her eyes snapped open as the door slammed close, immediately focusing on Chekov.

"Pavel?" she asked again, shaking the hold of sleep from herself. "What's wrong? What happened?"

Chekov shook his head, unable to believe that another person had lost their life because of him.

"Pavel?"

"Dead." he whispered.

"Who's dead?" she asked fervently. She received no response. "Pavel, who's dead?"

"Dead." he said again, shaking his head. "Because of me."

"Who?!" Amelia asked, getting anxious now at the lack of information. Pavel's eyes flew to hers and he suddenly launched himself into a standing position, pacing erratically around the small area and yelling in Russian. His face contorted into one of agony, making Amelia extremely nervous. She searched frantically around her cell, trying to find something to gain his attention, but there was nothing there. With a frustrated sigh, she removed one of her pearl earrings and threw it towards Chekov. It bounced uselessly off his cell bars, rolling back close to her own prison. The second try made it through, lightly pecking Chekov on the cheek and effectively stopping his rant.

"Chekov, calm down and tell me what happened. In English." she said, trying to slow him down. He stopped his pacing, collapsing against the side of the cell and gazing blankly at the floor.

"A man was killed tonight, and it was all my fault." he said slowly. "One St. Paul was murdered all because I would not cooperate with Him."

Amelia sighed, her face showing her concern. "Oh, Pavel, that wasn't your fault. Don't you see it? He's just trying to guilt you into working for him. St. Paul hated this life anyway. More than anything he'd ever experienced."

"You knew St. Paul?" Chekov asked, shocked. The man's empty eyes kept swimming across his overactive mind.

"Well, I saw him once. You only needed to look into those eyes one time to know that he would rather be dead than working for Him."

"Death is never an option." Chekov said. It was something that had been ingrained into his brain after working with Captain Kirk for so long.

"It is here, Pavel." Amelia said, her eyes once again adopting that tragic look. She pressed herself against her cell bars, reaching as far out as she could. "Come here. Take my hand." she said, stretching towards him. He too pressed himself flush against his cell wall, extending as far as he could into the expanse between them. The distance was just short enough that they were able to hook their fingertips together and connect. Amelia's dark eyes looked seriously into his own blue ones.

"It was not your fault, okay?" she said slowly and clearly. "It was not your fault."

"Then why do I feel so guilty?" Chekov asked softly.

"It's all a mind game with Him. This entire life is just one giant game of chess, and he's the master." she explained.

"I do not understand his purpose." he admitted.

"Do men of evil ever really have a purpose?" she pointed out.

"I suppose not." he said. The conversation stalled for a while, and then they released each other, going back to sitting in their respective cells. "He says that I am to go on a mission for Him soon."

She sighed, shaking her head. "Pavel, I hate to tell you this, but the best idea is to just go along with it for now. It may buy you some more time."

"Time for what?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. Amelia just gave a half smile and tapped her temple where her Tag was. Chekov's brow furrowed. "I do not want to do His work."

"No one does." she responded lowly, looking down. "Listen, you haven't slept in a really long time. You should take a nap - you'll probably want to be alert on your first mission."

"You speak as though you have experience." he said, laying down on the grungy floor.

"I've been on a couple missions for Him." she admitted slowly.

"I see." Chekov said softly, already slipping into sleep. "And you will be here when I awake?" he asked childishly, just as the large guard entered their space once again, this time aiming his horrible grin at Amelia.

"Here's hoping." she whispered as the guard unlatched her cell. She went along quietly, as if she knew struggling would be futile. Chekov attempted to stay awake a bit longer, but exhaustion overtook him, and he slipped into a dreamless sleep.

--

Chekov awoke an hour later as the door to Amelia's cell was slammed shut. Upon hearing her groan in what he perceived to be pain, he shot up, finding her leaning against the wall, clutching her head.

"Are you alright?" he asked quickly. "Did they hurt you?"

She held up a finger, signalling him to wait a moment. She squeezed her eyes shut, then blinked them rapidly, taking deep and steady breaths as she did so.

"What did they do?" he whispered.

"You remember how I said how most of the other Tags have a shock collar feature?" she asked sardonically.

"Yes..."

"Well, three guesses as to who just got an upgrade."

"Oh no, I am so sorry." he said simpathetically. "Does the new 'Tag' hurt a lot?"

"It wasn't really the new Tag, but they had to test the shocks first before they released me." she explained. "Obviously the first few trials were a bit high. I'll be ok in a few minutes."

Chekov felt at a loss. He did not like the helplessness of the situation - here, on a strange ship, with a strange man who was going to make him do strange jobs, plus an injured person! How was he supposed to do his duty to his planet and to Star Fleet from inside a jail cell?!

His musings were cut short as Lockjaw himself came into the room, grabbing Chekov and pulling him out of the room. This time they went a different way than their last two trips, which made Chekov's day a little bit better. At least he wouldn't have to see Him right now. Instead he was led down to what he gathered to be the hangar of the ship, as there were multiple shuttle crafts docked in their stations. Lockjaw practically threw him onto the loading ramp of one of the shuttle crafts, one which looked strange even to Chekov's educated eyes. He crawled to his feet, slowly and carefully walking onto the craft. He was confused - after all, no one had told him anything about what he would be doing on this so-called "mission". Captain Kirk always told them what was going on beforehand.

He doors of the main bridge of the craft swished open, revealing three people whom he assumed would be his partners. A middle-aged auburn-haired woman was leaning against the control panel, green eyes watching Chekov's every little move from the moment he walked in. The second was a tall, blue man with tremendously strong muscles; he was facing away from Chekov, so he was unable to see the man's countenance. The last was a small black creature with slick looking skin and pale blue eyes that were staring strait at the ceiling.

The red head smirked, and Chekov began to feel slightly uncomfortable. "Well lookee here," she said, her voice holding a Southern accent. "looks like good ol' St. Paul got replaced earlier than planned." She had a predatorial look in her eye as she looked Chekov up and down, making him very nervous.

The blue man's head snapped around, yellow cat eyes taking in the picture of Chekov. He smiled, revealing a row of pointed teeth, and let loose a throaty, deep laugh. "One word for you, Jenan: jailbait."

"Are you sure that's not two words, K'broch?" Jenan asked, turning her slightly lewd gaze upon the big man.

"Jailbait: noun, referring to a person with whom sexual intercourse is punishable as statutory rape because they are under the legal age of consent. Is, in fact, one word." the black creature said, ice blue eyes slowly sliding down to look at Chekov.

"Shut up, Chimal." Jenan said shortly, and turned back to Chekov. "C'mon in, cowboy. Make yourself comfortable. Take off your pants, baby, we're all friends here (1)."

K'broch turned to her, perking an eyebrow. "Pardon?" he asked sarcastically.

"For real, they don't read Hemmingway in the future? What kind of advanced intelligence is this?" Jenan said, throwing her hands in the air.

Chekov cleared his throat awkwardly, feeling like he was once again applying to Star Fleet Academy. Jenan and K'broch gave their attention back to him rather than to their bickering, and Chimal had not moved his...her...its stare from him at all. "My name is Pavel Andreievich Chekov."

"Welcome aboard, Pavel Andreievich Chekov. I am Jenan Briend, this is-"

"I can introduce myself, Jenan. I am K'brochaniv Qu'riptolan Tramnylario." the mammoth said, smiling again and showing off those pointed teeth.

"We just call him K'broch for short. And that bundle of laughter and joy is Chimal." Jenan gestured towards the creepy creature, who did nothing but stare at Chekov. He feared that it was contemplating eating him.

There was a beat of silence, and Chekov cleared his throat again in nervousness. "Forgiwe my ingorance, but I am unsure as to what exactly we are doing."

Jenan smiled that suggestive smile again. "Well, Chekov, let's bring you up to speed, eh?"

Chekov tried not to gulp in fear.

--

(1) - Legitimate quote from Ernest Hemmingway's_ A Farewell to Arms_ made by everyone's favorite Italian, Rinaldi.

alright! well, chekov is off to his first mission. what's going to await him there, eh? guess you'll just have to wait and find out!

if anyone cares about what the author is listening to whilst writing, just let me know and i can send you the playlist for this chapter. if anyone wants a reference of pretty much how i envision amelia, also let me know and i can send you the link.

should you feel inclined, i would not be opposed to some reviews...please? is there something you liked? something you didn't? something you want to see more of? something you want to see in the first place? got some ideas or something for me? i'm open to that sort of thing. let me know!

live long and prosper!

~XM


	4. Chapter 4

thanks for the reviews, y'all! you rock my face!

Review Response to fann: in a way, there are some x-men like qualities to this, but this is NOT an x-men crossover fic. i am just, inherently, an x-men writer, so i took some poetic license and added a bit of it in. as for lockjaw being in the x-men universe...i either don't know him or don't realize i do, as i kind of thought i made that name up for him by myself.

--

"Alright, Jailbait-"

"Chekov." Pavel interrupted, believing Jenan had just misremembered his name.

"I know. But I'm going to call you Jailbait so I can remind myself not to make any bad decisions." she said with a smirk and a wink. K'broch rolled his eyes at the woman's blatancy, and Chimal returned its gaze to the ceiling, apparently deeming the current conversation too boring. "Basically, we're going to fly over there, then K'broch is going to do his freaky magic thing to cloak the ship and us so we can get in undetected, then you're going to use this fancy thing that St. Paul always used to break in to the ship, and I am going to go in and kill everything that moves, all the while clearing a path so that Chimal here can slip in and get what we're looking for. Then, you will set up some permanent malfunction thing on their computers and we will peace out unscathed."

Chekov's mind was exhausted after her long-winded explanation. "What happens after that?" Chekov asked for lack of anything else to do.

"Well then we make our get away and come home rich and happy."

"All this for money?" Chekov questioned. He felt like these beings could be doing something much more productive with whatever skills they had (and he knew they had to have skills, otherwise He wouldn't be interested in them).

"Jailbait, we are living in a material world, and I am a material girl (1)." Jenan said with a glimmer in her eyes. She looked to each of them in turn, as if waiting for a reaction. K'broch shook his head, rolling his eyes yet again at her antics. "Ok, for real, not even Madonna?"

"You'll have to forgive Jenan. She often makes references that no one understands." K'broch explained. Chekov felt like the entire room vibrated with the deepness of the man's voice.

"Oops, I did it again (2)." she sang. Chekov cocked his head to the side in confusion. "Ok, I thought that for_ sure_ Britney would be legendary! This is upsetting."

"You are doing it again." K'broch said shortly, also confused.

"And is that my fault? No!" she exploded, throwing her hands up in the air in annoyance. She turned her intense gaze on Chekov. "You know I was originally born in the year 1970? Yea! And then He had to come and get me because I'm just so dang good at what I do. Don't get me wrong, I'm very thankful that He rescued me from that Turkish prison and replaced my leg and my arm and my shoulder and my-"

"That is enough, Jenan." K'broch said with an air of authority. "You are scaring the boy."

Jenan's face softened, but it made the predatorial look return to her face. "Oh, Jailbait, there's no need to be afraid. I'm just easily excitable, that's all."

"It is feasible that your easy distractibility could be a symptom of the ancient Attention Deficit-"

"Oh shut up, Chimal. I don't want your stupid ADHD rant again you little twit." Jenan snapped. Chimal had been muttering at her with its blank gaze still turned toward the ceiling.

"Twit: noun. A pregnant goldfish." Chimal responded. Chekov thought for a moment that the slimy looking creature was being humorous, but its face showed no sign of emotion at all. The icy blue eyes still stared at the ceiling, and Chekov wondered if the defining was some sort of habit.

No matter what little (and slightly inappropriate) comfort Jenan had offered him, Chekov could not help but feel an intense sense of anxiety. He could not go through with this - how could he let these people into a ship when countless lives were going to be extinguished because of it? He had joined Star Fleet to save lives, not ruin them.

He looked around the small, alien craft. K'broch had turned back to the controls, his long, blue fingers fluttering around the touch screen as he prepared the ship for the trip. Jenan was still staring intensely at him, green eyes not blinking and that nerve-racking smirk on her face. Chimal's face was still pointed towards the ceiling, but its eyes were now closed. Its blue eyes were really the only sign of life that it had, and now that the crystal blue was hidden behind inky black lids, Chimal appeared more as a shadow than a creature.

K'broch turned to Chekov, yellow eyes glinting menacingly in the near-darkness. "You are a navigator, yes?" he asked. He had a strange accent that Chekov couldn't place. If Chekov could compare it to an "earthly" accent (even if the humanoid was far from earthly), he would place him somewhere on the African continent. The deepness of it resonated in Chekov's own chest, making him feel as if his heart were palpitating awkwardly.

"Yes, I am." Chekov answered warily. He found himself beginning to dread any questions that anyone had for him. K'broch summoned him to the control board.

"This will be your station." he said, gesturing to the area next to him, precisely where Jenan was resting against. Her smirk grew, and Chekov gulped audibly.

"Alright." he said by way of agreement, trying to figure out a polite way to get Jenan as far away from him and his station as possible. She was standing way too close for comfort.

K'broch growled in frustration. "Jenan, move. You're making the poor boy nervous."

Jenan continued grinning like the Cheshire cat, her eyes glinting. "My bad, Jailbait." she said lowly, getting up from her perch. She brushed shoulders with Chekov as she passed, making his body stiffen and his eyes clench shut, as if anticipating pain. He did not see her smile widen as she sashayed to the back of the craft, as he kept facing forward in an effort to avoid that creepy green stare. Chekov let out the breath that he didn't realize he was holding, finally looking at the control panel. It was something definitely foreign to him, but nothing that he shouldn't be able to manage. He was a quick learner.

"The coordinates have already been entered." K'broch said as Chekov sat in his chair. The bigger being sat down next to him, making Chekov feel even smaller than he usually did. "Now we just wait for the go-ahead signal."

"K'broch, can I come back now?" Jenan whined from the back of the shuttle.

"No." K'broch rumbled shortly. However, despite the answer, the sound of boots on metal could be heard as she came back up to the front. Luckily for Chekov, she stood on the other side of K'broch, relatively as far away as she could be. K'broch focused his smoldering yellow eyes on her, clearly conveying his annoyance.

"Nobody puts Baby in a corner (3)." she replied cheekily. She huffed in frustration when she realized that, once again, no one understood her reference. Chekov couldn't help but wonder if she was constantly on a quest to find an allusion that someone else would appreciate it, or if she was just overdoing it because he was new and had the potential to understand her. He concluded that if the latter were the reason for her constant mention of 20th century references, then he would not be able to do anything except for disappoint her.

"What is it that you do, exactly?" Chekov asked in a small voice, a statement from her peaking his curiousity. She gave that predatorial grin again.

"Oh, I do many things." she said suggestively.

Chekov kept his face impassive, even if he was beginning to regret his inquiry. "Earlier you mentioned that He brought you to this time because you were, and I quote, 'good at what you do'. What is your specific skill that He would go back in time in order to retrieve you?" he asked, trying to as his question in the same way he did to his professors at the Academy.

At this, the woman was positively beaming, which made Chekov positively nervous. "I kill." she said slowly, letting the last word hang in the air around them like an offensive odor.

Chekov gulped again. "Kill...people?" he asked.

"Yep. I'm an assassin." she explained. "I've been in prisons, and I've broken out of prisons. It is within the realm of possibility that there would be one better than me, but I've now got something that none of them have."

"Here we go again..." K'broch muttered, making it seem as if he'd heard this story many times. Jenan ignored him.

"I was slowly seeping to death in a Turkish prison in the year 2011. See, the job I was supposed to be pulling turned out to be a trap, and while I was good, I was not good enough to take on twenty-five armed men. So I end up in this prison, slashed open and dying in pain and such, my very flesh being eaten off by a disease that I had contracted while sitting in that pigsty of a cell. Then He came." her eyes took on a far-away look, as if she were recalling her fondest memory. She spoke in a dramatic tone of voice. "He picked me up out of that cell, and took me here to the future, where everything is bright and shiny and fantastic. He replaced every part of me that had been infected with perfect robotic parts." At this, she lifted up her hand, flexing her fingers in a fluid and graceful way that made the movement seem a little too perfect. The scientist in Chekov wanted to see the engineering of her limbs and how He had been able to connect them to her true living body. "And now, I am the best that ever was."

"We have received the signal." Chimal said in monotone, eyes snapping open. They were now a slightly different color - a silvery-grey rather than pale blue.

"Time to rock and roll!" Jenan said, pushing off her perch with a flourish, going to buckle up in a seat close to K'broch. K'broch simply worked his way through the computer, dutifully ignoring Jenan in every possible way. Chekov, though slightly shocked that he was now apparently working with a cyborg, immediately snapped to attention, turning and fumbling his way through the alien computer. K'broch piloted them out of the hangar, launching them into the great black space. From there, Chekov couldn't help but be in his element. This was his game, and even though inside it felt wrong to be working for some evil psychotic space pirate, it also felt good to be playing again.

"Course set. We are at full warp. Estimated time of arriwal is eight minutes."

"Excellent." K'broch murmured, his low voice rumbling across the bridge.

"So, Chimal, what exactly are we going for here? Cash? Jewels?" Jenan asked of the slimy creature.

"It is unneccessary that I inform you of our target." Chimal grumbled monotonously.

"If it's jewelry, will you let me take my pick first? Let's be honest, I'm the only one here who probably cares for the asthetics of the pieces." she continued. Chekov began to wonder if she ever stopped talking.

"Standard procedure for aquirements will be followed." Chimal replied.

"Oh, come on, who cares about 'standard procedure' anymore?" Jenan whined.

"Jenan, if you would please shut up." K'broch said, annoyance painting his tone.

"Well someone's got to keep a conversation going in here, otherwise it's gonna be silent as space until the action gets going."

"Silence is golden." K'broch retorted, yellow eyes flashing.

"No, jewelry is golden. And I swear to gods, Chimal, if I don't get first pick this time-"

"Honestly, woman! Could you be more obnoxious?"

"Jailbait isn't annoyed by me, are you, Jailbait?" Jenan asked, turning the attention towards Chekov. Even Chimal's eyes flicked down to him before returning to the ceiling. K'broch and Jenan were both staring at him intensely, trying to bring him over to their respective sides in the argument.

Chekov gulped audibly, trying to compose himself under their frightening gazes. "I do not wish to comment on the matter." he said. One thing he had learned early on while serving on the _Enterprise_ is that you do not get into other people's arguments unless you wanted to incur the wrath of one or both of the participating parties.

"You're no fun." Jenan sighed, sitting back against her seat and crossing her legs and arm in indignance. K'broch kept his eyes forward, once again attempting to ignore the red head. An awkward silence ensued.

Chekov uncomfortably cleared his throat. "Approaching target. Expected arriwal is fifty seconds."

This time K'broch didn't respond, but gave a nod to show he had heard. He stood up, flexing his large muscles before placing large hands on the roof of the space craft. His fingertips began glowing, and after a moment Chekov felt an odd vibration pulsing through the floor and the consol, much like the one he felt every time K'broch spoke. He was suddenly distracted from K'broch's actions as the ship dropped out of warp, just in time to see a long, X-shaped ship appear.

"Target sighted." Chimal said, eyes moving from the ceiling to the ship in front of them.

K'broch turned his gaze to Chekov, his yellow eyes gleaming a little brighter than normal. "Alright, you must pilot this craft onto the centromere - that point where all of the arms meet. You must land carefully, as we do not want the passengers to be aware of our presence just yet. Chimal will take you first, and place you in an unoccupied corner of the computer main. This is when you will use the device-" Jenan handed the Aeryc Computer Encompassor to Chekov. "-to scramble their computer. At that point, Jenan and Chimal will return and do their job. At the signal from Chimal, you are to place a permanent malfunction on the computer, and you will return here. Any questions?"

"What will you be doing this whole time?" Chekov asked nervously. Though he did not really like any of his new crewmates, he felt safer with the blue behemoth than with Chimal or the pedophillic Jenan.

"I will be here, making sure that our ship stay sufficiently cloaked." K'broch answered. His hands had neither moved nor stopped glowing since his application a few minutes before. Chekov nodded, licking his lips in nervousness. He figured that the best place to start was to land the craft. He could try and concoct some sort of scheme for escape after that. He turned back to his console, making the necessary adjustments as to his preference, then proceeded to carefully pilot the craft down to the round, flat plate-like part of the ship. He contemplated making a rough landing to alert the unsuspecting victims to their arrival, but soon rejected the idea. There were simply too many confounding variables, such as death by the hands of K'broch or Jenan.

He slowly pulled the ship down, letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding as they gently touched down on top of the other craft. He made adjustments so that they would stay anchored, his hands trembling as the moment came closer and closer. He did not want to do this.

Chimal was suddenly right next to him. The strange creature might have come to Chekov's shoulder if it were standing strait up, but it was hunched over in an awkward stance, back and knees both bent. It looked as if it were permanently sneaking up on someone.

"There is no one in the computer main at this moment. It would be wise to act quickly." Chimal said. Its eyes, now yellow, stared at Chekov without blinking.

Chekov's breaths became shorter and shallower. He couldn't believe he was actually going to go through with this. He looked to K'broch for any sort of comfort, but the behemoth's eyes were closed in concentration as his fingertips continued to glow. Jenan smiled wickedly from her position against the wall. She was strapping on some sort of swords to her back, and he could see a phaser holstered on her hip. He turned his gaze back to Chimal, who waited for him with the same blank look it always wore.

"Hold your breath." it said, placing hands on Chekov's shoulders. They had a leathery feel to them, as opposed to an oily one that Chekov was sure they possessed. He did as he was instructed, taking a deep breath and holding it. He suddenly felt as if he were disintegrating, and squeezed his eyes shut against the uncomfortable feeling. Moments later, he felt his feet touch down on a metallic floor.

"You can open your eyes now." Chimal said. Chekov's lungs emptied in a rush, his eyes fluttering open to take in his surroundings. He was in the computer main of, he assumed, the ship they were now parked on. He was not sure how exactly he got there, but as Chimal said, no one was there. He looked back to the creature to get some sort of explanation, but it was already gone. He took another breath, suddenly feeling very lightheaded and nervous, as if he were going through his practical exams all over again.

He assessed his environment. The computer main was smaller than the Enterprise, but organized in regulation with Federation requirements. He easily located the necessary port for the Aeryc Computer Encompassor, hooking in one side of the cord that would connect the device to the computer. He sat down on the cold metal floor in front of the station, his head buzzing with nerves. The Encompassor slid in his sweaty hands, and the yellow of his Star Fleet uniform mocked him as he wiped them on it. He suddenly felt as if he was going to vomit.

Chekov took another shaky breath, then proceeded to operate on auto pilot. He decided that his short term goal would simply be survival, as it seemed he would be capable of nothing more. Deft fingers flew across the touch screen of the complicated device, operating it flawlessly. In any other situation, Chekov might have been proud of himself for his experience, as he was sure that the time it took him to initiate the sequence was certainly his personal best. Without warning, Jenan and Chimal appeared behind him, startling him tremendously.

"Calm down, Jailbait," Jenan said, clapping him on the shoulder. "it's just us."

"Six opponents approaching." Chimal said, causing Jenan's wicked smile to reappear.

"Time to rock and roll." she said again, unsheathing the two swords from her back and twirling them expertly. Her black, skin-tight uniform shifted with her as she stretched out her arms and back, cracking her neck. "You want a real show, Jailbait?" she asked rhetorically, adding a siniter chuckled. She kicked through the door with a bionic leg, causing it to fly across the hallway and crash into the opposite wall. She sauntered out into the hallway, smiling as five humanoid creatures in a green uniform came running towards her, phasers armed and ready. Chekov was suddenly nervous - didn't Chimal say that six were approaching? But the creepy creature had already disappeared, leaving Chekov alone with his unanswered questions. He snuck to the doorway, staying out of sight to watch the events unfold.

"'Ello, poppet (4)." Jenan said in a bad British accent. The five men then proceeded to open fire on her, red phases flying through the air towards the one target. With a few flashes of swinging steel, Jenan blocked every single shot. A beat of silence passed, her smile widening before she went on the offense. She leaped through the air, blocking phases with her swords before stabbing the first man strait through the heart. She did not stop, spinning out of the way and blocking a phase with her free sword before slashing strait trough another man. She ducked down under another shot, then leaped into the air, roundhouse kicking a third man in the head. His skull was crushed with a sickening crack as her steal foot met it with blunt force. The fourth man was taken care of quickly as she slashed through his throat, his body crashing to the floor with a grotesque gurgling sound. The last man looked at her with dark, defiant eyes, then took aim with his phaser. He got off a shot, which Jenan blocked, but was not quick enough to evade her attack. She slammed the hilt of one sword into his wrist, causing him to drop the phaser, before spinning and dropping an elbow into his neck. He crumpled to his knees, struggling for breath.

"Why?" he gasped, pain filling his eyes.

"Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die (5)." Jenan said before stabbing him through his temple.

As Jenan was laughing at her own private joke, Chekov suddenly heard the unmistakable sound of a phaser warming up. From right next to his ear. He slowly turned to find that pesky sixth individual aiming strait at Chekov's face.

"Why are you-" the man's question was cut short as a bang ran through the hallway, a bullet hole erupting in the side of his head. He slid to ground, dead, as Jenan stood in her previous position, gun held aloft. She blew at the smoking barrel, smile wide.

"Never fight fair with a stranger, boy. You'll never make it out of the jungle that way (6)." she said before sauntering back to him.

"Object aquired." Chimal's grating voice rang across the computer main from behind Chekov, startling him once again. "Have you disabled the computer?"

"Um, no." Chekov stuttered, in shock at what he had just seen. "I hawe not yet."

"You have two minutes." Chimal said, loping to Jenan to take her back to the ship. Chekov ran over to where he had left the Encompasser, quickly moving towards a separate application of the software as he began shutting down the system. He paused, a sudden idea moving through his head. Without a second thought, he hacked into the communication section, formulating a distress signal. He multitasked as the message was prepared, shutting down the rest of the computer.

"Come on, come _on_..." he muttered, swearing at the machine under his breath, a slow-moving bar showing the progress until the message was complete. Sixty-eight percent. Seventy. Chekov checked his mental stop watch, believing he had around twenty seconds until Chimal returned for him. Eighty-two percent now. Eighty-four.

His heart began beating rapidly as the clock ticked down. He resisted the urge to yell in frustration as the bar stopped at ninety-eight percent.

"Time to go." Chimal appeared in front of him again, and Chekov sighed in desolation. He was out of time. Without looking at the screen, he turned off the Encompasser and unplugged it from the borrowed computer main, allowing Chimal to take hold of his shoulders and once again holding his breath. When his eyes opened again, he was back on the foreign vessel. Jenan sat in the corner with a satisfied smile on her face. K'broch stood in the exact same place as he did before, beads of sweat beginning to roll down the sides of his face. He gave quick instructions to Chekov, which were followed in a dreamy haze that is often accompanied by such a great shock as this. Chekov followed them without question, punching in coordinates and pushing the ship into warp as K'broch let go of the roof, dropping into the chair beside him with an exhausted sigh. Out of the corner of his eye, Chekov saw Jenan slowly reaching for a little black bag beside Chimal, who was once again staring at the ceiling with pale blue eyes. Before Jenan could touch it, a shiny hand grabbed it and pushed it into its abdomen, the bag almost seeming to slide into Chimal. Jenan humphed again, sitting back in her seat as they began the voyage back to Him.

--

(1) - Quote from the Madonna song "Material Girl."  
(2) - Britney Spears song.  
(3) - Famous line by Patrick Swayze in the movie "Dirty Dancing."  
(4) - Quote from "Pirates of the Caribbean"  
(5) - Quote from "The Princess Bride"  
(6) - Quote from "Death of a Salesman" by Arthur Miller

alright, so slightly longer chapter than usual. to be honest, it was originally going to be longer, but i decided to include all the post-mission drama in the next chapter. plus, i really wanted to get this up tonight, as i'm driving for four hours tomorrow to go see my favorite classic rock bands (zz top and aerosmith) in concert, and won't be returning until monday! and i've made y'all wait just way to long already for this chapter. we got to see a little bit of action, and don't worry, there will be more to come!

as always, please leave a review! tell me what you liked! what you didn't like! what allusions you got! which ones need further explanation! and also, IF YOU HAVE ANY IDEAS OF SOMETHING YOU WOULD LIKE TO SEE, please, feel free to share, otherwise this may end up like...fourteen chapters or some other disappointing number like that.

as always, if you are interested in a playlist, let me know!

live long and prosper, y'all!

~XM


	5. Chapter 5

alright, so a little disappointing on the review front - that's alright! as long as some people are enjoying this, i shall continue it!

if i may so ask, though - if you're going to favorite or alert this story, please drop a line. it doesn't have to be long. in fact, i've had a review where the entire thing was "o". and i was ok with that.

with that little tidbit out of the way, let's see what kind of trouble our little chekov can get himself into today...

--

Chekov wasn't aware of anything around him. Well, that was a lie. He was vaguely aware of piloting the craft back to the mother ship, but it felt as if he were watching it from somewhere besides behind his own eyes. Tonight, he had allowed six men to be brutally murdered by a ravaging psychopath, all for some worthless trinket. The ride back was not silent, as he wished it would be - Jenan found a way to simultaneously bother Chimal for the stolen object and banter loudly and obnoxiously with K'broch. The massive blue being was obviously spent from his half-hour of keeping the ship cloaked, and was in even less of a mood to deal with the crazy woman. Chimal, as per usual, sat on the consol with its pale blue eyes facing heavenward, unmoving and uncaring. Chekov suddenly felt dreadfully and completely alone.

He pulled the craft into the hangar of the larger ship, fenagling another flawless landing. His Star Fleet professors would have been proud of him. The rest of the motley crew gathered what little equipment they had, moving to exit the craft with the swagger of a professional. This was not a traumatic experience for them - it was an every day occurrence.

"You coming, Jailbait?" Jenan asked lowly, placing a hand on his shoulder and rubbing. Chekov cringed away from her touch, squeezing his eyes shut as if he were praying that she would stop...which he was. Jenan, a bit put out at being rejected, pouted and exited the craft in a flurry, leaving nothing behind except for bad memories and the scent of blood.

K'broch stopped next to Chekov, who was still leaning over the navigations consol, hands splayed out as if he were about to begin a sequence. His eyes gazed, unfocused, at the blank screen in front of him. K'broch could feel the emotions rolling off of the boy - the confusion, the hurt, the guilt. "I know you do not believe me now," he said, his deep voice rattling the crevices of Chekov's body. "but it does get easier. The first step is always the hardest." He gave the boy one clap on the shoulder, pulling away quickly and leaving the boy to his thoughts. Chekov let out a long, shuttering breath, finally alone. For a moment.

Chimal suddenly appeared next to him, eyes glowing in the semi-darkness. "Lockjaw awaits you." he croaked before disappearing again. Chekov squeezed his eyes shut again, this time in anger. He slammed a fist down on the consol, causing pain to erupt across his hand and spread like fire all the way up to his elbow. He could not bring himself to feel like the pain was bad. With a resigned sigh, he too walked down the ramp into the main hangar, his body and mind fading at the sight of the giant and relentless Lockjaw. They did not speak, one massive hand just grabbed Chekov by the arm, pushing him in the direction of the dungeons. He once again experienced an out of body experience as he was led back to his cell, collapsing in it once the gate was shut. Amelia, who had fallen asleep in his time away, was jostled awake by the loud noise. She rubbed her eyes in order to wake herself up before sitting up, eyes gazing at him with concern.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly.

Chekov felt as if his entire body and mind were numb. He was physically, mentally, and emotionall drained. Everywhere he looked, he saw the blood shed from five bold men, defending their vessel. The dark eyes of the one who, a mere foot away from him, lost his life. Those dark eyes looked at him wherever he went.

"Pavel?" she asked, this time a little more firm.

"So many fallen men." he finally whispered, his voice cracking half way through. "Where can we lay them all to rest?" He looked up at her, eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Oh, Pavel," she said sympathetically, her heart breaking at the sight of his brokenness. The dam holding back his emotions finally broke, and he choked out a sob, laying his head in his hands and weeping bitterly.

How had it come to this?

--

Meanwhile, on the USS Enterprise, one Captain James T. Kirk was getting impatient.

"There is no way that they could just freaking disappear into space!" he yelled for the upteenth time, slamming a hand into the wall.

"Captain, you must calm down." Spock stated.

"Mr. Spock, we've been through this." Jim said through gritted teeth. "I can't calm down! I've got-"

"Yes, yes. You've got a missing Ensign, who was targeted for unknown reasons and is now somewhere in outer space and being held captive. We have no idea what is being done to him." Spock quoted tiredly. "I heard you the first eight times."

"Then why do you keep telling me to calm down?" Kirk asked with a challenging glare in the Vulcan's direction. Spock stared back, calmly.

"It is simply illocigal to attempt a rescue mission without first analyzing data and constructing a proper plan. We cannot reclaim Ensign Chekov simply by running around until we are exhausted of fuel and patience." Spock said.

"Save it, Spock." Jim said, his voice now sounding defeated. "He's been missing for far over forty-eight hours now. They could be anywhere, and we have no idea where to start."

"Captain!" Uhura interrupted Kirk's angst fest, swivelling back and forth in her seat in an attempt to view both Kirk and the screen at the same time. "I'm receiving a distress call from a ship in the Sigma Theta system."

"Lieutenant Uhura, forward the message to another Star Fleet vessel, we don't have the time to-"

"It's from Ensign Chekov, sir." she stated, effectively putting Jim's tired list of excuses to a stop. There was a beat of silence.

"What?" Jim asked lowly, unbelieving. He covered the distance between him and Uhura's station in four long strides, placing his face next to hers and gazing at the screen. Spock appeared on Uhura's other side, also wishing to see what the message said.

"Captured. Careful. Dangerous." Jim read out loud, squinting at the vague message. "Then it's just a set of coordinates. What does that mean?" he asked loudly, frustrated. "Uhura, you're the xenolinguistics specialist - what is that crazy Russian boy talking about?"

Uhura stared blankly at Jim. Really, was her Captain this thick? "He means that he has been captured, and that when we come to retrieve him, we need to be careful because the people he is with are dangerous." she spoke slowly, as if explaining something trivial to a small child. Jim's old grin came back.

"Mr. Sulu, punch in those coordinates." he said with a flourish, turning around and traipsing back to his captain's chair.

"Aye aye, Captain." Sulu said, also smiling. He turned to his screen, quickly entering in the necessary codes and the coordinates.

"Scotty!" Jim called over the intercom.

"Yes, Cap'n?" Scotty drawled.

"How are the engines and weaponry looking?"

Scotty could sense the excitement in Jim's voice, which in turn made him excited. "Well Cap'n, let's just say that if this baby was a real woman, I'd marry her. And wouldn't cheat on her."

Jim smiled, shaking his head at the engineer. "Brilliant. Sulu, let's give it a go. We've got an Ensign on the other side of the galaxy to go and save."

Sulu punched the last few buttons before pushing the ship into warp. "Course is set, Captain. Estimated time of arrival is forty-eight minutes."

"Forty-eight minutes? That seems kind of long." Jim said, mood dampening a bit.

"In any other ship, and with any other pilot, it would be sixty-six, sir." Sulu retorted. "If I may say so."

"You may say so." Jim said with a dismissive wave of the hand. His cocky grin returned to his face - it was time to go and conquer.

--

Chekov's throat felt raw and his head pounded uncomfortably. If it were any other day, he would have felt embarrassed to display his emotions in such a way in front of a girl, but it was not just any other day. Today he had assisted in the murder of six people, and not only that, had failed to send out a distress signal. How disappointing.

The Russian shook his head, clearing his thoughts. He wiped the last of his (unmanly, in his view) tears with the sleeve of that accusing yellow shirt and took a deep, shuddering breath, gathering himself. Would Captain Kirk give up at this point? No, and neither would Ensign Pavel Andreievich Chekov. He turned to Amelia, who had been gazing at him the entire time in silence, waiting until his pain was spent. She stood with her arms resting on the bar in front of her, head in one hand.

"The first one is the hardest, yes?" he asked darkly.

"Unfortunately." she said, one side of her mouth quirking up in a humorless smile.

"How many have you been on?" he questioned. She sighed, picking her head up and looking down at her forearms.

"A few." she replied quietly with a noncommital shrug.

Chekov paused for a moment before changing the subject. "I attempted to send out a distress call." he said finally.

Her eyes flashed, but with what emotion he couldn't tell. "Did it work?" she asked.

He dropped his head in shame. "I ran out of time. It did not complete transmission."

"Oh. I'm sorry." she said softly, shifting her weight awkwardly. She finally dropped down to the floor, sitting with her back against the wall with her legs stretched out in front of her. "Do you think your friends on the Enterprise will ever save you?" she asked slowly.

"Yes." Chekov replied surely with an emphatic nod of the head. He was glad the conversation was not on his mission. "Captain Kirk and Commander Spock will find a way to track Him down, and then will come and rescue both of us."

"Both of us, eh?" she muttered sarcastically.

"Of course. You do not think that I would leawe you here, do you?" he asked incredulously.

She gave a small smile, looking back down to her hands. "And what is going to happen after we're rescued?" she asked hypothetically. He smiled widely.

"Well, then Dr. McCoy is going to insist that we undergo a medical examination in order to make sure we are not contaminated by foreign bodies or else injured. Then, Mr. Spock will properly examine your Tag and find a way to safely remowe it. While you are in recowery, I will most likely be detailing my report to the Captain."

"And what about after that?" she asked, laughing. "What's going to happen after all that?"

"We shall return back to Star Fleet Academy, because the crew is supposed to go on shore leawe in three days. Or is it sooner than that? I am unsure of the date." he removed his gaze from hers for a moment in puzzlement, but shook his head, dislodging the thought. "Anyway, we will go on shore leawe, and you can enroll in the academy and join Star Fleet and serwe on the Enterprise with me!" he seemed very excited about this future.

Amelia was silent for a moment, and once again her eyes fell to her hands. "I'm not so sure Star Fleet will accept me."

"Of course they will." he said definitively. "I hawe determined that you are an intelligent girl, and I am to assume that you hawe had some form of higher education prior to your capture. In fact, you are smarter than many of the oafs that I met during my time at the Academy."

She laughed softly, shaking her head. "I was a biology major, back home," she said quietly. "specializing in botany and its application to medicine."

"Where was home?" he questioned her.

"New York City, originally. Lived with my dad in a rougher part of town." she paused, laughing at a long-ago memory. "There used to be this restaurant, Mekong Star...you didn't order, cause Monty always knew exactly what you needed. No questions or anything. You ate what Monty got you, cause it's exactly what you wanted, whether you knew it or not."

"That is amazing!" Chekov said seriously, rather impressed by the idea. It might have been exhaustion or the stress, but the absolute irrelevancy of the conversation eased his troubled mind. "What happened if you tried to order something for yourself?"

"You'd get sick. Every time, without fail." she replied with a half smile.

"Your father, he is still there, yes?" Chekov asked. She nodded.

"Probably will be until he dies." she said. "What about you? What do you miss most from home?"

He paused for a moment, thinking his answer through. "From my home in Russia I miss my family the most. We were a wery close family. From Star Fleet though, I miss the crew, especially Mr. Spock. Though he is wery...what is the phrase...stand-off from the outside, he is wery intelligent and the only crewmember that will indulge in my desire to perform complex mathmatical calculations during free moments."

"You really like Star Fleet, don't you?" she asked, smiling.

"Oh yes, wery much so." he said softly. He looked to her with a sort of desperation in his eyes. "And you will too!"

"What makes you so sure?" she was still smiling, as if they were talking about something that would never happen. "What if you don't know me as well as you think you do, hmm?"

"Oh, I know I do not know you wery well." he said with a shrug. "Maybe I am placing my own wishes upon you."

She dropped her gaze, her smile faltering. "I like the sound of your dreams." she said quietly.

"Of course! Because Star Fleet is ewery intelligent being's dream!" he said emphatically, jumping up in excitement. "You will come with us on the Enterprise, where we trawel through space, the final frontier, going boldly where no man has gone before!" he leaped about his cell as if he were taking part in an amazing adventure within its confines. Amelia laughed at his antics, putting her hands over her face as her whole body shook with her chuckles.

"You are a dork, you know that?" she said, still giggling. Chekov stopped his bounding, his face falling.

"I am unsure of what you mean. Is that bad?" he asked, a worried look on his face. Amelia could tell that he generally acted older than he was, but periodically slipped back to his actual age. He looked very innocent at the moment, eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed.

"No, it's not a bad thing. It's..." she stuttered, trying to decide how to explain it. "it's kind of like...a term of endearment." she finally settled on that. His expression brightened again.

"Well, in that case, you are a dork too, Amelia!" he said with a wide grin. She chuckled, shaking her head again. Suddenly, a look of sadness flitted across her face, but as she opened her mouth to speak, Chimal appeared. In Chekov's cell.

"I have been sent to fetch you." it said, grabbing his arm. Chekov looked between Chimal and Amelia, a look of confusion evident on his face. He finally took a breath and held it, appearing again with Chimal on what he believed to be His bridge. Chekov could see the various minions at their staions, all waiting for His orders. Chekov's confusion increased when he noted the angry look on His long, white face, black eyes narrowed in anger.

"Ensign Chekov. I believe we have an important matter to discuss." He hissed out, dismissing Chimal with a wave of a large hand. Chekov, not knowing how to respond, simply held his tongue. "It seems that contact was somehow reached with the Enterprise, and now, we have some visitors." He flicked his hand towards the metallic wall, where a screen flickered to life. Captain Kirk's smug face greeted them. Chekov could see Spock, Sulu, and Uhura all at their stations, as well as Bones standing next to the Captain's chair.

"Captain!" Chekov yelled in his excitement.

"I see you have something that belongs to me. I have come to retrieve him." Kirk said, flashing a grin at Chekov. The Ensign was overjoyed at the sight of his Captain. He knew they would come for him.

"I am of accordance with one of those statements. This is your Ensign, yes. As for your retrieval of him...well, that is debatable." He said.

"We would be willing to compromise for his safe return." Kirk said, his face changing to one of complete seriousness.

"Can you offer me another young genius in exchange for Ensign Chekov here? Because that is the only sort of componsation that I will accept." He responded, mouth cracking in a sinister smirk.

"You have broken Federation law by kidnapping and holding hostage a member of Star Fleet. You are under arrest under the Federation Law 1064-"

"I know exactly which laws have been broken." He interrupted, speaking shortly. "However, I unfortunately cannot return your Ensign to you, as I am unable to locate him."

"What?" Kirk asked incredulously, laughing as if at some outrageous joke. "I can see him standing right there."

"Hmm. About that." He said, that grotesque smile appearing on His face again. Chekov could practically see the wheels turning in His head, and that frightened him.

"Captain, I am not the only prisoner here-"

"Chimal, please escort Ensign Chekov and his little jailmate to Pod 14 and initiate the sequence. Trillo, Zafia, and Quivan, feel free to open fire upon the Enterprise." He barked out orders quickly, and Chekov barely had time to take a breath before Chimal teleported him iinto some sort of escape craft, throwing him unceremoniously to the ground and disappearing. Mere seconds later, Chimal reappeared, throwing Amelia in as well before backing out of the craft. He slammed one black hand onto a large blue button, sealing the doors. The pod rattled and buzzed to life, suddenly dropping out into space.

"Sequence 12984.32-A beginning. Initiating leap to warp four." a computerized female voice said cooly to them. True to her command, the pod made the jump to warp, speeding them off to unknown territory, away from the Enterprise and their only chance for rescue. "Estimated time of arrival: twenty-eight minutes." the computer said in monotone.

"Where are we going?" Chekov said, leaping to his feet.

"No clue." Amelia said, staying down on the floor. "These pods are equipped with the coordinated preregistered, and once the sequence is initiated, it will not halt until it is fulfuilled."

"So we are stuck here?" he asked, feeling like his chest had deflated.

"Yep." she replied. "We've got no way of telling where we're going, no form of communication, nothing."

"It must be equipped with some sort of survival things." Chekov said, beginning to search around the small cabin. The walls were a tiled metal, with one window breaking the vision of silver. None of the panels opened no matter how he pushed and pulled, much to Chekov's dismay.

"The computer will release them upon impact." she replied, sitting up and resting her back against a side of the pod. Chekov turned to her, her calm exterior shocking to him.

"Impact?" he asked incredulously. He hoped it was one of those moments where the English phrase simply did not make sense to him, that it meant something other than what it sounded like.

Amelia shrugged. "What can I say, these things were built for speed, not comfort."

"Can they be tracked?" he asked hopefully.

"Not that I know of. Only He knows which coordinates were entered." she said. Chekov's hope dissipated.

"So...we just wait until He comes back to get us."

"That seems to be the idea." she said with a shrug. She had that look again, where Chekov felt as if something was plaguing her heart. Determined to get that look off her face, he plopped down next to her and gave her an award winning smile.

"Well, perhaps it will be nice wherewer we go. Then we will hawe a wacation until He decides it is time for us to come back! Then when He sends me on another mission, I will simply send out another distress signal, and this time Captain Kirk will be better prepared and we will be rescued!" he said, bumping her with his shoulder. He suddenly became very aware of their close proximity - they had never been closer than the few feet that separated their cells. She gave him a small smile, pulling her knees up to her chest and resting her head on them.

"Your hope makes me want to hope again." she said softly. He gave her another bright smile.

"You should newer giwe up hope." he said, leaning closer to her for a moment. "Captain Kirk always says that there is no such thing as a no win situation."

"Cheeky." she muttered with a smirk. Chekov's brows furrowed.

"I am not sure I understand." he said, cocking his head to the side.

She paused. "Don't worry about it." she said finally, rubbing his shoulder for a moment. Unlike when Jenan had done it earlier, this time Chekov did not cringe away from the contact. In fact, he welcomed it. They passed the remaining time in silence, watching the atmospheric entrance like a mildly interesting film.

"Landing in twenty seconds." the computer voiced. Amelia's eyes flitted to Chekov's, showing nervousness for the first time.

"Pavel, this is going to hurt. I can feel it." she said, her brown eyes beginning to widen in fear. On impulse, he grabbed her hand, holding it tightly.

"We will be ok." he said, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. They did not look out the window as the pod descended upon a forested mountain, roughly crashing into the underbrush, throwing them around the cabin of the pod. It then proceeded to bounce and roll down the hill, tumbling its passengers around painfully. After what seemed like years, the pod rolled to a stop, finally allowing them to breathe.

"Pavel, I am aware of how uncomfortable our position is," Amelia said, her voice muffled by his shoulder. "but honestly, I'm not sure I can move right now."

She had landed directly on top of him, her legs intertwined with his. Chekov found it an odd sensation that as he laid there, gasping for air, he could also directly feel her doing the same thing.

"Do not worry about it." he said, blowing her hair out of his mouth. They stayed in that position for a while, collecting their bearings before determining their next move. Once the initial dizziness and pain passed, Amelia was able to sit up, both ignoring the fact that she was straddling him as she waited for the light headedness to fade.

"You are bleeding." Chekov said, and indeed there was a large gash across Amelia's forehead. She reached up, pulling her hair away with one hand and wiping away the blood with the other sleeve. After one more deep breath, she was able to stand, pulling him up with her as they analyzed their surroundings. The computer had deployed the supplies, so they collected as much food and such in some small, black back packs as they could. Chekov found a first aid kit, and insisted upon bandaging up Amelia's injury before they went out to see where exactly they had landed.

With a press of a button, the doors hissed open, immediately letting in an intense amount of heat and humidity. They climbed out of the pod, the heat intensifying as they met it full on. Chekov wondered how it could be so hot when they were under so much tree cover. The two looked at each other, and with a shrug and a smile, began trecking through the jungle.

--

whew! poor guy, it's just one thing after another! sorry for the late update y'all - i'm afraid i have no good excuse except that it was perfect lake weather this weekend. in retribution, i have a very obnoxious sunburn across my back and shoulders...

i'm going to try and update by late wednesday night, which would be really fast for me! after that, though, i'm off for a couple weeks doing different camps and such. i'll try to write while gone and post in between them, but i am most certainly not promising anything. in fact, i can't even promise the update by wednesday.

questions or comments? drop a review, homie. por favor. curious as to what i'm listening to while writing? i'll gladly share, just ask! :)

live long and prosper!

~XM


	6. Chapter 6

holy moly, guys! eleven reviews for one chapter? that's amazing! thank y'all so much! seriously, all this feedback was majorly awesome, and i super duper appreciate it!

with that said, i hope you enjoy this chapter! if i were into chapter titles, this one would be called "chekov vs. wild".

--

Chekov felt as if he were literally being steamed. The humidity was nearly suffocating him and Amelia, and they both felt like they were wading through the jungle-like terrain rather than walking through it. They had yet to encounter any other living creatures, but different sounds made it obvious that they were not the only living beings in the area.

The moisture in the air made his hair feel heavy, and Amelia had long ago tied hers up in some sort of messy knot, keeping it off of her neck. Her Tag blinked an angry red at them as they pushed their way through the underbrush. The straps of his survival pack were cutting painfully into his shoulders, but Chekov was not about to complain. After all, he was a man, a Russian man at that, and Russian men did not feel pain from something silly like a backpack. It was sometime during the early evening on this planet, whichever planet it was, causing a stifling heat to encompass the two treckers.

Chekov had long ago taken off his yellow Star Fleet uniform, as well as cutting off the sleeves to the black undershirt. As proud as he was of his uniform, it was not the time to be wearing two warm layers. He made a mental note to request a completely new uniform set once he was back on board the Enterprise, as the one he had been wearing for the past few days was now in a dismal condition.

"There's water nearby." Amelia said suddenly, holding out a hand to stop him. He stood next to her, straining his ears to hear. Sure enough, there was a low gurgling sound off to their right, signaling the presence of the blessed liquid. They took off again through the dense trees, fighting their way through bushes and branches until they finally reached a small, clear brook. Both let loose a sigh of relief, dropping down next to the water and drinking deeply from it. It was cool and refreshing, especially after walking around in the heat and humidity for over two hours. Chekov dipped his head in, holding his breath as the water flowed around his cheeks and ears. At that moment, that cool water was the greatest thing that he had ever felt.

He didn't realize how long he had stayed under until Amelia roughly pulled him out, flinging water everywhere. He took a deep breath in, blinking the water out of his eyes. "What? What is going on?" he asked, alarmed. He thought there might be some emergency happening.

"Oh thank goodness." Amelia muttered in a way that Chekov felt he wasn't supposed to hear. "I thought you were trying to drown yourself."

"Drown myself? Why would I wish to do that?" Chekov asked, pulling his wet hair out from in front of his eyes. Amelia shrugged.

"You wouldn't be the first on the ship to off yourself. It's not the most glamorous life." she explained. When he gave her an odd look, she added, "I've heard stories."

"Well, rest assured that I shall newer 'off myself,' as you say." he said, giving her a grin. She smiled in return, then picked up her bag.

"We might as well set up camp near here. It's going to be dark soon, and even though we're being boiled alive as if we were on the streets of Houston in August, we need to get a fire going before night falls." she said, standing up.

"Excellent plan of action." Chekov complimented, also rising and grabbing his bag. He briefly wondered if her shoulders were as chaffed and raw as his felt. They pushed through the underbrush in a path parallel to the small river, eventually finding a space between the trees big enough and clear enough for them to build a campsite. Chekov put himself in charge of clearing the space, spending a half hour or so tearing up foliage and brush so they would have room for the survival shelter that the escape pod had furnished them. Just as the sun began its descent, he had the tent up and Amelia had a fire going. He did not stop to wonder how the sleeping arrangement was going to work with only one tent - he subconsciously assumed that the lady would get the tent, whereas he would be slumbering beneath the stars. He dropped down beside Amelia near the fire, grabbing some of the food that had been provided to them. It was no delicacy by any means, but Chekov had had barely anything to eat in the past few days, and was running below empty in his gas tank. The two of them were silent for the duration of the meal, each focusing on their thoughts as the sounds around them changed from day animals to nocturnal creepers.

The temperature began a steady descent after the darkness fell, making Chekov begin to regret dunking his head in the river. His thick curls were not fast drying by any means, and they were making his head a bit chilled. At that point, Amelia let loose a chuckle. He turned to her, a question in his eyes.

"What is funny?" he asked curiously, as she was looking at him.

"I'm sorry, but your hair is huge." she replied. Chekov reached a hand up to test her hypothesis; sure enough, his fingers reached his curls much sooner than average, as the humidity made them grow and frizz. He suddenly felt self conscious.

"This is unusual." he muttered, willing himself not to blush.

"It's pretty cool. I've always wanted curly hair." Amelia replied, reaching out a hand to gently pat the growing mass of curls.

"Your hair does not curl?" he asked, caring not of the irrelevancy of the conversation.

"Nope. Strait as a board, no matter what I do." she said. Chekov shrugged, unable to come up with a reply to that. There was silence for a beat, and Chekov laid down on his back, gazing up at the canopy and suddenly overcome with tiredness.

"So, Amelia," he began somewhat awkwardly. "tell me more about yourself."

"Smooth question." she said sarcastically. He furrowed his brows, confused.

"I am unsure as to what you mean by that statement." he said, but shook his head, dismissing the topic. "You spent roughly six hours asking me questions, it is only good manners that I reciprocate the gesture." he explained, tilting his head to look at her. The flames made her dark eyes glitter as she looked back at him, head resting in one hand. After a moment, she sighed, laying down next to him and placing her hands behind her head.

"Fine. What do you want to know?" she asked. Chekov was quiet for a moment.

"Hmm..." he hummed, thinking. "How old are you?"

"Nineteen." she answered. "But sometimes I feel like much older. You understand."

Chekov thought for a moment of his comrades on the Enterprise, how the closest in age to him was Captain Kirk at 25 years of age. Yes, he knew the feeling well.

"What is your favorite memory from childhood?" he asked after a moment.

She sighed, fidgeting a bit before answering. "Well, let's see...when I was twelve, I traveled to Austin, Texas. There was this street performer there who called himself Maggio the Great, and he picked me out of the crowd on the street and had me help him do his magic tricks. Apparently he got more tips than usual that day, so he named me his good luck charm, and gave me this." she sat up, fishing a necklace out of the neckline of her shirt. Chekov sat up, holding the small, silver star pendant in his fingers, watching as it twinkled in the fire light. "It's supposed to encourage good luck as well, but it doesn't seem to be working so well."

"Perhaps it has just not begun working yet." Chekov replied with a smile. She gave him a half-smile, shaking her head.

"Let's just hope you're right." she said quietly. There was a pause in the conversation, the only noises being the crackling of the fire and the twitters of nighttime creatures.

"How long has it been since you were captured?" he asked after a moment. She bit her lip, staring off into the forest.

"Hold that thought. I'll be right back." she said, getting up and walking away into the darkness, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Chekov was a little angry with himself, and allowed a bit of cursing in Russian. Why would he bring up such a sensitive subject when it was obviously something so painful to discuss? Perhaps Captain Kirk was right when he said that Bones was better at not being sarcastic than Chekov was at getting girls. He began fervently thinking of a way to begin the conversation again when she came back, perhaps not about the current predicament that they shared.

He was just about to lay back down when he heard a loud rustling in the bushes, accompanied by a very loud scream. His head snapped up, eyes focusing on the area where he had last seen Amelia. Another scream ripped through the air, causing Chekov to leap up and begin rummaging in one of the survival packs. He had seen a hunting knife somewhere in one of them. He let out a yelp as something sharp contacted his finger, drawing blood. Found it.

He gripped the knife tightly, crashing through the bushes in the direction of the commotion. He could barely see anything in the darkness, and had to rely on his sense of hearing to direct him. He could feel the branches and shrubbery grabbing him, but he was not thinking of that. He was thinking of his friend, who was somewhere nearby, struggling.

Chekov stumbled into a small clearing, finally finding his desired target. His eyes adjusted just in time to see a large spider-like creature sink its fangs into Amelia's arm, which was lifted to defend herself. She gave a cry of pain, then proceeded to collapse to the ground. Chekov sprinted across the clearing, knife bared in offense, and leapt towards the massive beast. The knife sank into tough skin, right in one of the joints of the monster. It made an odd gurgling sound in pain, crumpling in the direction of its injured leg. Another leg came out of no where, pushing him away roughly. It was then that the creature turned its attention on him.

Chekov had been flung strait to the ground, his head contacting painfully with the hard packed forest floor. Through the stars that had exploded in front of his eyes he could see the creature barreling towards him, favoring one of its legs. Chekov made an effort to clear his head, brandishing his knife as if it were a broad sword. The creature jumped into the air, landing over Chekov with one long, spindly leg pressed against his throat and another landing strait on his shoulder, causing a loud crack and an explosion of pain that he did not want to think about. He jabbed the hunting knife hard into the appendage, coughing as it was quickly removed from crushing his windpipe. He slashed the knife upward, landing another cut on the underside of the creature's face. The beast leapt towards him again, but this time he was ready, rolling out of the way just in time and sinking the knife into the creature's backside. He pulled downwards, causing an outflow of black blood. The monster screamed again, wheeling around again to face its opponent.

Chekov had to think quickly. He was already quite fatigued from recent events, so he could not last much longer in a fight. To add to that, Amelia was lying ten feet away, dying. He had to end this, and soon. The monster hurtled towards him again, bent on destroying him. Chekov dove to the ground just as the beast reached him, quickly rolling up and sinking his knife into the underbelly of the creature and slashing towards its head. Black blood gushed out like a waterfall, spilling all over Chekov's arm and the ground below it. It quickly began to tingle. The creature crumpled to the ground, letting out one last gurgling moan before silencing. Chekov pulled himself out from underneath the thing, favoring his bad arm, and crawled over towards his friend, who looked like she was nearing a meeting with the Grim Reaper.

"What do I need to do?" he asked upon reaching her. She grabbed his clean wrist, seemingly focusing hard on his face.

"I'm going to start convulsing and go into shock soon." she said, gasping for breath. "First, wash your hand. The blood is toxic. Second, find a blue, three petalled flower with orange in the middle. Chew its leaves and place them on the wound. It will slow the spread of the poison. Last, find the red hypospray...labeled...lysomaxi-" her instructions were interrupted as her eyes rolled into the back of her head, her body jerking and shaking in a frightening manner. Chekov scrambled to his feet, scrambling back towards the river. His arm was beginning to cramp now, and was twitching uncontrollably. He crashed into the water, scrubbing the black death off as quickly as he could. He stood once it was all off, placing his now clean hand on his hurt shoulder. It was dislocated. He took a deep breath, and without wasting any time, rolled it back into socket. He gasped in pain, but shook it off - he had a bigger job to worry about.

He began scouring the area for the plant that Amelia described, luckily finding it some twenty feet away from where the attack had taken place. He grabbed a handful of leaves, pushing his way back through the underbrush into the clearing. He dropped to his knees next to Amelia, who was now convulsing quite violently on the forest floor, and stuffed a few leaves into his mouth, chewing quickly. He did not think about the viciously bitter taste, though it was certainly strong. He pressed the chewed leaves to the hole in Amelia's arm where the fang had sank in, hoping he was not too late. Without waiting to see if there was a reaction, he ran back towards camp, quickly emptying the bag full of hyposprays. He located three red ones, pulling them out of the group. One was labeled meriodotin and was quickly discarded. He then came upon a dilemma. The next hypospray was labeled lysomaxisome, and the third was labeled lysomaxitosin.

Chekov was momentarily stunned. Which one would it be? He clenched his eyes shut, running through his memory to see if Amelia had finished the name of the hypospray at all. His heart was beating erratically, and his thoughts were flying as he tried to hurriedly make a decision.

He took a deep breath, then thought to consider what Mr. Spock would do. He would think through the situation logically. It was obviously illogical to inject both hyposprays at once, as they could cause negative effects when mixed with each other. He brought the labels close to his face, trying to ascertain which one would do what he needed it to do. The first said something about hydrochloric acid, the second something about arachnids. He knew arachnophobia to be a fear of spiders, and so settled on that one. He rushed back to Amelia, whose convulsing had slowed marginally, hypospray in tow. He did not stop to think about his actions, immediately (and roughly) injecting the serum into her neck. The next moments seemed to last hours as he waited to see if he had chosen right, or if Amelia was dead.

Her jerking motions slowed, eventually calming her down into a fitful sleep. Her breath was still ragged, coming in short gasps, but at least she was alive. Chekov let out a long sigh of relief, glad that another death would not be on his head.

He suddenly became aware of the cooling air around him, and realized that being in the middle of a cold forest with an injured person was not the right place to be. He slid his arms underneath Amelia, gritting his teeth as he stood up with her. His shoulder was yelling at him in protest, but he continued to carry the girl from the clearing back to the fire. He placed her close to the warmth, going then to get some water and blankets. Her forehead was shining with a sheen of sweat, but her skin was cold and clammy, so Chekov wrapped her up in one of the blankets, attempting to roast the poison out of her. He rifled through his pack, retrieving his discarded Star Fleet uniform and soaking one of the sleeves in water before placing it on her forehead in an effort to make her more comfortable.

And so he spent the night like that, dabbing her forehead and praying to whatever god that was listening that she would be alright. She was the only friend he had right now, so she needed to survive! He could not say exactly when her fever broke, but it was about the time that all the adrenaline in his body had been replaced by exhaustion. Some time after that, he finally dropped to sleep.

The morning dawned bright and cool, but Chekov didn't realize that. He was dead asleep on the ground, lying there unnoticing as Amelia stirred. Her head ached horribly, as did her arm, but she could not bring herself to move. She vaguely noticed the tangled blanket around her and the dying fire next to her, but was more concentrated on the dozing Russian next to her. His face, in slumber, was free of all worry and anxiety, making him seem even younger than he was. His curls were tousled, disheveled in an adorable way. She smiled and sighed, lamenting the fact that someone so brilliant and so innocent had to be involved in this horrible business. She suddenly found herself wishing for his freedom instead of her own. She could handle this, but him...he was meant for greater things, she could feel it.

Amelia finally pushed herself to a sitting position, taking deep breaths as the world began to spin around her. She took a moment to analyze her wound; it hadn't been cleaned and was slightly infected, but other than that, it was fine. The poison had been eradicated between the lysomaxitosin and the Panco leaves, but that didn't mean the gash in her arm didn't hurt terribly. She slowly began picking the leaves out of the cut in an attempt to do some preliminary cleaning before she had to get up and get proper supplies.

"I can do that." came a soft voice to her side. She turned, finding that Chekov was awake, although groggy, staring at her through bleary, hazel eyes.

"Go back to sleep. I can handle it." she murmured, gazing at him with gentle eyes. He shook his head, pushing himself into a sitting position next to her. He rubbed his eyes and tousled his hair, waking himself up further before gesturing to see her arm. She rolled her eyes at his stubbornness, holding it out towards him. She watched him as he cleaned the wound, focusing wholly on the task at hand. It wasn't until he finished wrapping the gash in gauze and tape that he spoke.

"You feel better, yes?" he asked, finally meeting her eyes.

"Much so." she answered softly.

"Good." he said, nodding his head. The air suddenly changed as they both realized how close their faces were. Chekov paused, looking as if he were about to say something, but instead shut his mouth, clambering to his feet. "You need water." he said shortly, stretching and grabbing a cup from one of the packs before stumbling into the woods. Amelia sighed again. No, he did not belong in this life at all.

Chekov wandered back in a few minutes later, looking as if he had dunked his face in the water again. He was certainly more alert for it. He handed her the cup, and she sipped it slowly as he sat back down next to her.

"Are you sure you feel alright?" he asked, a concerned look on his face.

"Yes, I'm sure." she responded. She took his hand in her own, squeezing it gently. "Thank you for saving my life."

"I was just obeying instructions." he replied cheekily, a grin cracking across his face. He liked the feeling of her hand in his. Their moment was interrupted by a rustling in nearby bushes. Chekov grabbed his hunting life, no longer stained after he washed it, and held it out in front of him. He rose to one knee, positioning himself in front of Amelia in order to protect her. They held their breath as the rustling came closer, finally stopping as Jenan forced her way into their little clearing, red hair shining brightly in the early morning sun.

"Aw, how precious." she purred creepily.

"Surely you can't be serious." Amelia said.

"I am serious. And don't call me Shirley (1)." Jenan responded with a wide smile.

--

"It doesn't make sense. It's not even good grammar!" Jim yelled loudly across the bridge, though to no one in particular. "What on earth does it mean to disappear somebody (2)?!"

"Though you have previously been heedless to my suggestions, I must request that you calm down, Captain." Spock replied to the outburst.

"What kind of technology could be used to make someone literally vanish? I mean, one minute Chekov was right there, and the next...poof! Like an effing magic trick!" Jim continued with the rant without paying attention to Spock.

"It had its signals blocked. There's no way of tracking it." Sulu said, wishing he had a better answer. After their little conversation with Him, Chekov had been blasted away in an unknown vessel to an unknown location. Then, His large ship suddenly made the jump to warp, putting up some strange sort of shield that made it invisible both to the trackers and to the naked eyes.

Kirk gave up his pacing, dropping down on the captain's chair with a sigh. He placed his head in his hands, muttering something about being "so close". The entire bridge was silent for a moment. Then, in a startlingly quick motion, Jim raised himself back up.

"So, crew?" he asked the bridge, looking at each of the people in turn. "What is the plan now?" There was another moment of silence as everyone wondered what to say.

"...Chase them?" Chekov's replacement said meekly. Kirk turned to him, a grin slowly forming on his lips.

"I like it. Mr. Sulu, how good are you at chasing?" he turned to the pilot. Sulu shrugged, also smirking.

"Hopefully good enough, Captain." Sulu replied.

"The enter those coordinates! Let's get going!" Kirk said with renewed energy. Spock came beside him as Sulu turned back to the control panel, going through the necessary process to start up the ship.

"Captain-"

"I know what you're going to say, Spock. That this isn't a logical way to go about this. That I'm just running us blindly into the middle of space with no plan and blah blah blah. I know this isn't the greatest idea, okay? But it's the only relatively good idea we've got." Jim interrupted, speaking in a low voice so that the entire bridge had to strain their ears to eavesdrop. Spock's lips remained closed, and after a moment he inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"Very well, Captain." he said, then turned on his heel and returned to his post.

--

(1) - quote from the movie "Airplane".;  
(2) - paraphrased quote from Joseph Heller's "Catch-22".

well, what do y'all think? let me know! please!

alright, so i'm back for two days from colorado, then leave again saturday to be back wednesday, so y'all can expect an update maybe...next saturday? again, no promises.

as always, if you want the playlist, it's available.

and please review! love!

live long and prosper! 


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